Road to Recovery
by Lyon's Own
Summary: Sometimes it all gets to be too much. Harry loses his way trying to hide from the pain of his past, luckily he has love to guide him home. Warnings: HPDM slash, Emotional trauma, Substance Abuse COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, and the licensed copyright holders including Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Bros., Inc. No money has been exchanged and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N: **I've been away awhile and got out of the habit of writing. I haven't abandoned my other fics, I just needed a break so here's a new one. Hope you'll enjoy. Review and let me know what you think. Thanks! And my deep appreciation to my beta WindandSummer!

**Road to Recovery**

**1.**

"…he's finally seen reason and you want him and Malfoy to get back together? What the hell are you thinking Mione?" Ron shouted at his wife, "Ending it with Malfoy was the best decision Harry's made in a long time!"

"Oh, really," smirked the illustrious Salmaen Library and Centre for Magical Research's youngest chief archivist. "Well then why does Harry look like he's going to have a breakdown any minute now? He hasn't been happy at all since Draco left, Ron. I haven't seen him like this since just before the end of the war." She frowned, "Actually, I don't think I've ever seen him like this. Draco was good for him!" She hollered back.

Ron crossed his arms obstinately, "He's just going through a rough patch Mione. Shacklebolt's got us working ridiculous hours chasing after the NCRCM. Those wannabe Death Eaters are slippery and cunning as hell. Harry's just tired and frustrated like the rest of us. Plus, he's the lead Auror on this case, so it's more work for him. There's nothing really wrong with him Mione, I ought to know, I see him every day. He's just a bit run down because he's so invested. You'll see, once we catch those tossers Harry'll take a little holiday and be right as rain. It's just like the Ashcombe case," he continued seeing his wife wasn't convinced. "You remember how he got until we made the arrest. He needs a bit of time, not that ponce Malfoy.

Hermione frowned but nodded, which seemed to placate her irate husband. She decided against mentioning that it'd been Draco who'd seen Harry through the trauma of being captured and held by Ashcombe's accomplices for nearly a week, when Ron turned his attention back to _Quidditch Weekly_.

The conversation left her uneasy though, and she didn't stop thinking about it over the next few weeks. It was obvious to her, despite her husband's protestations, that her dearest friend was in trouble. She hated that there seemed nothing she could do about it but continue to watch Harry's slow decline, since each time she mentioned anything, Ron complained she was nagging and Harry brushed off her inquiries. It didn't help that their other friends easily dismissed her concerns and what she saw as clear warning signs. Harry drank more; he'd gone from being the sort who'd nurse a single glass of wine through the course of one of their weekly dinners, to tossing back firewhiskey as though it were pumpkin juice. Ron and Seamus encouraged him, saying it was about time he learned to let loose. It didn't bother them that Harry would often Floo home, being too drunk to Apparate, or have to bunk on the couch in their cosy living room, too pissed to move at all. They shrugged off his increasing short-temper saying the pressure of the NCRCM investigations were getting to him. Just as they dismissed his increasing isolation from his friends outside of the young Weasley's weekly dinners, saying it was just a sign of his drive and determination.

Two months later, Hermione had had enough. The leaders of the New Cultural Reform and Reclamation Movement, or the NCRCM, had finally been captured in a raid Harry'd led, and were to be tried for acts of treason and terrorism. Harry's team of Aurors, unofficially called the Gryffon Unit, were given a week's leave once the reports and paperwork had been completed. Ron had convinced her to take the week as well so they could take a brief holiday in Bath. He was spending the day before their trip visiting his mother, and Hermione made plans for a much overdue visit of her own, though Ron believed she'd be at work finishing an urgent project.

She felt guilty, lying to he husband, but someone needed to step in before Harry was too far gone for an intervention. And…she missed her friend.

She kissed Ron before he Flooed away, briefcase in hand and dressed in the smart business robes she usually wore for work. When the green flames faded to normal she pinched a bit of Floo powder and set off for Godric's Hollow.

Hermione stepped through the grate brushing off the soot, but immediate pinched her nose. The reek was overwhelming! Moulding takeaway containers, empty bottles of Muggle beer and firewhiskey littered the floor. Harry had the curtains drawn over the windows, making the filthy, grimy room seem even more dark and imposing. Harry himself, lay sprawled on the couch, arm draped limply over its side. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she had a proper look at him. How could Ron and the other Aurors not notice this, not consider Harry's state as anything but very, dangerously wrong? Even from where she stood through the dusty staleness of the air, and odour of rotting food, she could smell the foetid sweat on Harry's near emaciated body; see the bruise-like smudges under his eyes, the jaundiced pallor of his skin.

"Oh Harry," she sighed. "What have you done to yourself?" She approached the wasted figure on the couch and grimaced as she nearly slipped in a puddle of sick. "Merlin, Harry!" Her worry momentarily gave way to disgust. "How could you let things get so far out of hand?" she scolded the unconscious man as she vanished the vomit. Gingerly, she leaned down and brushed sticky damp locks away from his face and realized he was running a high fever. "You need a healer, Harry. You're so very ill," she shook her head softly. "Thank Merlin, I came to check on you. Who knows what could've happened with you here like this by yourself."

She picked her way back through the rubbish to the fireplace. "St. Mungo's," she said firmly into the green flames, calling on the only medi-wizard she trusted to make a house call with the utmost discretion, "Wellness and Family Care Clinic, Healer Malfoy's office."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses, knowing it wouldn't stave off the coming migraine, but it felt good to try. The words of report he was reading on the results of young Melissa Gregory's latest tests were jumbling together in an incomprehensible mess. He should take a break, but the young witch was running out of time, the mutated Muggle virus she'd contracted was decimating her magical defences and immune system. Draco was treating her with a radical experimental procedure and these results needed to be assessed before the next treatment he'd scheduled for the end of the week. His assistant's face in the fireplace was, for once, not a welcome sight.

"I'm sorry to disturb you Healer Malfoy," the witch began timidly.

"What is it Muriel?" Draco snapped. "Didn't I tell you I wasn't to be disturbed this afternoon? I'm busy with the Gregory case and--"

"I'm so sorry, sir, but she says it's an emergency."

Draco sighed, dropping his head into his hands. Muriel was a gem of an assistant, incredibly organized, and quite formidable. Whoever it was had rattled her, which said something about the direness of the situation. Draco closed his eyes and took a moment to collect himself. "I'm sorry Muriel; I didn't mean to snap at you."

The older woman smiled, "I understand, Healer Malfoy. We're all quite anxious for Melissa, but this is an emergency, shall I put her through?"

Draco waved his hand tiredly, "Go ahead, but while I'm in conference, have the Randolph files brought up from Records. I'm seeing him tomorrow afternoon."

"Of course, Healer Malfoy." Muriel's head disappeared and few seconds later Draco startled as a wild-eyed Hermione Weasley appeared in his grate.

"Oh, oh Draco, you're there, good. Thank Merlin. I didn't think I'd get past that dragon you call your assistant. She kept trying to put me off and I couldn't just have another healer come. It's bad, Draco will you come? I thought he was just sleeping, but I can't wake him up, even with an Ennervate, and--" the young witch rambled out.

Draco blinked and held up his hands, "Wait, slow down, Mrs. Weasley. What's going on? Who can't you wake? And why are you calling me? Why not just bring him to St. Mungo's"

Teary-eyed the witch shook her head, "I can't. Oh, I couldn't do that. Can you imagine what the press would say? They'd have a field day and you know how he hates that. Can you come?"

His stomach sunk as he realized the identity of his prospective patient. He sighed, "It's Harry isn't it?"

Hermione looked confused as though it was quite obvious who'd she'd been nattering on about. "Of course it's Harry, who else would it be?" She fixed him with a concerned look, "Are you feeling alright, Draco?"

He smirked. "Where are you Mrs. Weasley? I can be there in a few minutes?"

"Godric's Hollow, I think the wards are still keyed to you."

Draco nodded, pushing his inner turmoil aside in favour of his professional duties. He shot off a few questions as he gathered things around his office. "How long has he been out? What are his physical symptoms?"

"He's breathing, shallowly, he looks a right mess. I think he's had too much to drink, but I'm worried because I can't wake him. I called first because he's running a high fever, but when I couldn't wake him I started to panic."

Draco hummed and closed his satchel, carefully tucking the flap over the Gregory file and several potions. "Alright," he squared his shoulders, "I'm coming through, step back Mrs. Weasley."

Draco stepped through and with a spell quickly whisked away the soot from a fireplace that obviously hadn't been cleaned in long time. As the grime disappeared he took a look around, shocked as Hermione had been by the state of the large cottage he'd once shared with his boyfriend.

"Morgana's tits," he swore, "What the hell's been happening here?"

"Oh, Draco, you're here!" Hermione rose from the couch, gently placing Harry's hand by his side."

Uncomfortable, Draco merely nodded and strode to Harry's side. His normally pleasant, interactive and knowledgeable bedside manner was stifled by his uneasiness around Hermione and Harry. So he singularly focused on his work, rather than trying to gather more information from his patient's distraught friend or comfort her. He reeled off diagnostic spells, his face becoming paler and more drawn with each one. Finally he stood back, and levitated Harry to the master bedroom. Hermione scurried in before him to throw open the curtains and shake the accumulated dust off the coverlet. Coughing and sneezing she managed to get the grimy window open so the breeze could carry some of the dust away.

Draco gently lowered Harry to the bed shaking his head. "This will never do. Dietty!" He called loudly and a house-elf popped into the filthy room.

"Yes, Master Draco, what can Dietty be doing for you?"

Draco fought the urge to cast a challenging look at Hermione, knowing her views on house-elfs, instead commanding the elf to clean the room, then house. "Make sure each room is aired thoroughly Dietty, it's absolutely filthy in here."

With a few snaps, the master bedroom was cleaner, enough so Draco could begin his work in earnest without fear of a coughing or sneezing fit. Hermione perched herself in an overstuffed chair near the window watching as Draco made complicated movements with his wand, shooting spells that lit Harry's body with purple, then gold, then green, then blue, then orange, and finally red light.

It was over an hour since he'd arrived and sweat beaded Draco's brow, but Harry, at least seemed to be breathing easier, and while the hue of his skin was still off, it wasn't the sickly jaundice of before.

"He's stable for now," he said tiredly, passing Hermione to sit in an armchair in front of the room's small fireplace.

"Can you wake him?"

Draco shook his head, "He's out of the coma and in a healing sleep. It's best to let him be fore a while." He pocketed his glasses and knuckled back the loose locks that had escaped his ponytail.

"Well…do you know why did he get sick so suddenly?"

Draco's face was set in hard lines. "There's nothing sudden about it Mrs. Weasley," he said in his coldest voice. "Why haven't his friends sought help for him before now?"

Hermione wrung her hands and looked as though she wanted to cry. "Please, Draco, it's Hermione. We were friends remember? And, well Harry didn't seem too bad off before now. No one really thought there was anything wrong. He's been a bit standoffish lately, and drinking more, but it hasn't been enough to make a difference to his work. Ron hasn't said anything about him having any troubles there. I only came by today because I thought the drinking was a little excessive and I thought it would help if he could talk about what's been bothering him."

Draco frowned, "I don't know how he's been fooling you all, Mrs.-Hermione, but Harry is very sick. It seems his infamous luck was with him again today though, it's a good thing you dropped by, and excellent that you called me right away. If he'd gone untreated…" Draco pinched his eyes shut, "a few more hours," he said hoarsely, "we might not have got him back."

Hermione gasped in horror, "Are-are you saying Harry might've died?"

Draco nodded solemnly, "That's exactly what I'm saying M-Hermione." He stood and went to the small fireplace across from the bed. Taking out a pinch of Floo powder he called to his assistant. "Muriel, things here are dire," he ignored Hermione's sharp intake of breath, "I won't be returning to the clinic today. Healer Norwich is on call; have her cover the rest of the day's appointments. I also need Nurse Abrahms to collect a full detox kit with extra doses of liver rejuvenation potion, and the hepatitis specific betarevidine thiamine solution. I'll be ready to pick it up in half hour."

When the firecall ended Muriel's face reflected only her professional demeanour, but she knew the healers of the clinic well and could tell there was great pain in the young healer's eyes. Almost as deep as when…she closed her eyes, hoping fervently the mystery patient wasn't the young healer's former boyfriend. Though Healer Malfoy had held up admirably when their relationship ended she'd seen just how deeply he'd been hurt by Harry Potter's rejection. Though he tried to hide it, she saw the echoes of that pain everyday, but it had been months since it was as acute as she'd just seen.

Hermione wiped her tears away as Draco continued casting spells over Harry; she was horrified that he best friend might've died. "What's wrong with him?" she whispered.

"Alcohol poisoning," Draco said curtly. "He's been drinking heavily, Muggle and wizarding alcohol together. It's a bad combination as wizarding liquor speeds the deleterious effects of Muggle alcohol. A few weeks of combination hard drinking can have the effect of several months of Muggle alcohol consumption. Months can take years' toll on a wizard's body. That's what's happened to Harry. His recent rapid consumption, I'd say last night or this morning, led to poisoning and coma, but more damaging is that he'd been at it for a while progressively damaging his liver. He'll have to undergo detoxification, and an organ rejuvenation regime to correct the damage and reverse the hepatitis. He's also developed oesophageal varices; those are varicose veins in the oesophagus that could cause him to bleed out if they rupture."

Hermione paled, "Oh my god," she whispered. She raised her puffy red eyes to the young healer's assessing gaze "Can-can all the damage be reversed?"

Draco nodded, "Yes. Harry will heal M-Hermione. It will take some time, but he must never drink heavily again."

Beside herself, Hermione flung her arms around the healer's slender neck. "Oh Draco, thank you! Thank you so much. You've saved his life!"

He disengaged her arms gently, but firmly. "Don't thank me yet, Mrs-Hermione. Harry has a long recovery ahead of him. You'll need to be with him near constantly for the first few days. After that--" He stopped as her face fell. "What is it?"

Hermione's eyes teared, "I-I can't. Oh, Draco, I can't stay with him!"

The healer frowned, "I'm sure Weasley will understand--"

She shook her head, "None of them even want to admit that Harry has a problem. I can't see Seamus or Dean caring for him. Neville's in the middle of a term at Hogwarts, and Ron and I are going on holiday tomorrow. Remus is guest lecturer at Scuola di Magia in Palermo and Tonks is on sabbatical to be with him. I don't want to have to hire a private nurse, b-but I think that's what we'll have to do. There's no one else!"

Draco closed his eyes and for a moment considered that he was going mad. It would work though. Melissa Gregory's treatment wasn't scheduled for another few days, he could have one of the clinic's nurses stay with Harry while he was away. Calling himself seven kinds of fool, he laid his hand on Hermione's shoulder both ending her raving distress and gaining her attention. "I'll do it," he said. "There's no need to hire a nurse. Harry wouldn't want a complete stranger here caring for him."

Brown eyes grew wide, "Oh Draco, you couldn't! I-I mean, it would just be so awkward. For both you," she rushed out. "After everything that happened do you really think--"

Draco sighed, "I'm a professional healer. Harry is my patient. My…feelings," he grimaced with a moue of distaste, "have little bearing on his treatment and recovery Mrs-Hermione. And after all," he added bitterly. "It was Harry who decided I wasn't worth the effort. I doubt he'll care one way or the other. I'm just another nobody to him now."

Hermione's eyes were warm with regret and sympathy, "Oh, Draco. This has been so hard on you hasn't it," she reached up and hugged him gently. "I'm so sorry I haven't been there for you."

He sniffed, then shrugged, and little awkwardly, with her arms still around him. "I understood, Hermione. Harry's your best friend, and your husband never really cared for me. Wh-when a couple splits up, their friends have to choose between them. It's shite, but that's how it is. I can't say I didn't miss you though."

She squeezed him tightly and issued his cheek, "It did feel like we had to choose, but I missed you too Draco. I missed our talks, and teas. I missed going into Muggle London for the matinee with you. I never said anything because I didn't want to rock the boat, but I'm not the only ex-Gryffindor who misses you. Our little dinners just aren't the same without the lot of you. It's just the Gryffindor bunch these days, which frankly is a bit of a bore."

Draco's watery chuckle, made her smile and she hugged him close again. "No matter what happens with Harry, I don't want to lose you too Draco. When Ron and I get back, let's have lunch, alright? Firecall me at the office."

He drew a deep breath and smiled faintly. "Alright, Bookworm. I'll call you." He kissed the corner of her smile at the nickname he'd bestowed during the war. "Right now though, I have an ailing patient to care for." He turned and looked at the still figure on the bed.

"I can stay, Draco. At least through the afternoon."

He shook his head, "Better you go home and let Harry's friends know what's going on. They won't like it, so you'll need to smooth things over. He can't have visitors for three days, and after that they'll have to schedule visitation through Muriel."

"Three days?" she asked incredulously.

"He almost died today," Draco reminded her gently. "And he's not yet on the mend. Three days at least. For now it's only me, Muriel and Nurse Abrahms who'll have access to Harry. We'll keep the press and curious away."

Hermione nodded. "You're the healer, you know best. I'll go and let everyone know. Ron and I will be back just before we head to Bath so I can give you the specifics on how to reach us. Plus, you know how Ron is; he won't go if he hasn't seen for himself that Harry's is good hands."

Draco smirked," Well whatever he thinks of me personally, I know he's confident in my professional skills, so hopefully that'll go well."

"I think it will. So you go on to your office and get your supplies. I'll sit with Harry until you return."

He nodded, pinched a bit of Floo powder and was gone in a whoosh of green flames.

Tbc…and soon!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, and the licensed copyright holders including Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Bros., Inc. No money has been exchanged and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N: **I've had such positive feedback on the first chapter and so rapidly, that I decided to post this chapter early. I hope you'll enjoy. And please do review! As always my deep appreciation to my beta WindandSummer! And Sherree, thanks for pointing out the inconsistency in the last chapter, both me and my beta missed that one.

**Road to Recovery**

**2.**

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Harry's hand. "You never do anything the easy way, do you, Harry? It'll be alright now. Draco's going to take care of you and help you get better. Maybe…maybe this is your chance to work things out between you. You've been so unhappy since you chucked him. You never want to talk about it so I don't know why, but you were happy together. You deserve to be happy, Harry. Fix things with Draco, at least so you can be friends again." She leaned over and kissed him gently, surprised when bruised lids fluttered and slowly opened.

"Mi-Mione?" the sickly man croaked.

Hermione smiled through her tears, "Oh, Harry! You're awake! How do you feel?"

Harry struggled to draw a full lung of air, "D-did you catch the tags on-n th-the lorry that ran me down?"

She wiped away her tears and smiled sadly, "Oh, Harry," she sighed. "Well at least I know you're feeling a little better."

Harry tried to sit up, but Hermione, held him down, "No, you mustn't get up Harry. You're very sick. Just lay still until your healer comes back."

Hazed green eyes, tried to focus, "H-healer?"

Draco cleared his throat, "Yes, that would be me. You're very fortunate, Mr. Potter. You have a good friend in Mrs. Weasley. Had she not sought immediate medical assistance, most likely you'd be dead now."

Harry attempted to shake his head, but pain stopped him mid-motion, "Dr-Draco?"

The blond sighed, "Yes, Harry, it's me." He came and stood over the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Harry frowned, "Dun-no…c-cold, th-then ho-hot, sl-sluggish…whas wrong wi' me?"

"You've been drinking excessively lately, Harry. It's caught up with you and made you sick." Draco said, compassionately. "Has something been bothering you." Despite the tight lines of pain around his eyes Harry shook his head vehemently, "Ca-n…can't talk about it, pl-please no!"

"Shh, it's alright Harry, I won't make you talk about it right now," Draco soothed and shot a worried look to Harry's closest friend. "Maybe later. Right now, we need to focus on healing your body." He drew several vials from steel box, emblazoned with St. Mungo's insignia. "This won't be pleasant Harry." These potions will purge and neutralize all the toxins in your system. It will be very painful. And they taste like shite," he smirked. Then clasped Harry's hand, "But I'll be with you the whole time. You can yell, scream, curse me, squeeze my hands 'til my bones grind, whatever you need to, I'll be right here. I won't leave you."

Draco read the guilt and confusion clearly in Harry's eyes. "It's what a friend would do, Harry. And I'm your healer as well," he said simply, and handed over the first phial.

Fixing Draco with a look of trust and gratitude, Harry knocked pack the first of the foul-tasting potions while Draco's long soft fingers rubbed his hand. He felt Hermione kiss him goodbye, and faintly heard her saying she'd return in a few hours, and then he knew nothing but raging heat, searing endless flame, and the pain of being burnt alive. He screamed.

It went on for what seemed like days, relentless pain in muscle wracking waves, or worse, to Harry's mind, prickling surges that felt like millions of needles were being forced out of his body through his skin. His blood boiled or burned in icy flows, he had no sense of time, no sense of anything really beyond the feel of Draco's hands and the soothing tenor of his voice, comforting him, telling him it would be alright, that the pain would end, that soon he'd be better.

Just when Harry thought his heart would give out under the onslaught, the burning eased. It was no true respite though, as he was given another potion that caused nearly every muscle in his body to seize up, gripping him paroxysms of excruciating spasms and trembling. He cried out again for Draco, and through the haze of agony thought he could feel the healer's breath on his cheek, it might have been an hallucination, as he also thought he could hear Ron yelling somewhere off in the distance.

It was no hallucination. Draco sighed as Hermione dragged her outraged husband from the master suite as he tried to calm Harry. It had only been four hours and Draco knew it would be worse before it was better. Already he'd steeled himself for a long and devastating vigil. Ron storming in demanding Draco vacate the premises, hollering for answers, and a second opinion, didn't help, but it wasn't unexpected. While Hermione calmed Ron, Draco took a moment to vanish Harry's soiled clothes and spell the sheets clean. The detoxification would purge Harry's body completely; there was no point in dressing him in clean pyjamas until his body's wastes were fully expelled. He'd already had Dietty retrieve specialized self-cleaning linens from St. Mungo's, no point in taxing his own magical reserves to continually spell the faeces, urine, and vomit, away. Harry didn't have anything left in his stomach to sick up by the time the Weasleys arrived, but the sour scent of bile was thick in the air. It was enough to clue a green-faced Ron that his mate was indeed in serious trouble, and went a long way to cooling his temper.

"Mione says you think Harry could die. That true?" The tall ginger-haired Auror asked quietly looking over his pale and profusely sweating friend.

"He might've had your wife not taken quick action this morning," Draco answered simply, and cast another healing spell.

Ron paled, his freckles stark, against his blanched face. "I-I didn't know…"

A blond brow perked up accusingly, and Ron looked away, unable to meet the steely grey gaze demanding truth. "Well," he said after a long pause, "I-I mean I didn't know it was this bad. You know, serious. I've seem him sneaking a few sips from a hip flask at work, now and then, these last few weeks, but it weren't nothing serious," he protested. "We all have a nip from time to time! Harry's been working a hard case and --"

Thunderous anger crossed Draco's face as he stood against the taller Auror. "Enough excuses! Your _mate_--your _best_ friend, starts behaving uncharacteristically and dangerously--you know as well as I, that Harry would _never_ drink on the job, if things were going alright for him! You said _nothing_! You don't try to get him to talk about what's bothering him. You don't arrange an intervention, or drop a word to your boss that Harry needs some time away. No! You encourage him; pass him another pint and a shot of firewhiskey as he self-destructs!

"What kind of lousy excuse for a friend are you, Weasley?" Draco's tirade was cut short as his hand was gripped desperately and Harry gave a low pain-filled moan. Deflated, Draco sank back into the bedside chair. "Just get out," he said with a sigh. "Your interest in looking after Harry comes too little too late, as far as I'm concerned, but can make your excuses to him when he's well enough to hear them. Right now, he's fighting for his health, and I don't give a damn about your paltry justifications and guilt. They're not needed here and neither are you."

Ron blinked, but before he could say something petty or spiteful, the truth of Draco's words slammed into him and shamefaced he left the suite, passing his wife in the doorway.

"You were rather hard on him," Hermione said blandly without any sort of judgment, placing a cup of tea on the bedside table.

Draco snorted, "He needed to hear it. It's always 'I'm Harry's best mate' this, or 'Since I'm Harry's best mate I know best' that. He wants the role, let him act the part. Where was Ron 'Harry's my best mate' Weasley, when Harry was drowning himself in bottles of firewhiskey and scotch? Where was his _inviolate_ knowledge of his _best mate_ then?"

Hermione leaned down and brushed the tears away from Draco's cheeks, "You're angry--"

"Bloody buggery hell! Yes! Yes, I'm angry! Dammit all, Hermione. I would have given, done, said, anything, to be close to Harry these last months. Ron crows about how close they are and sits on his arse as whatever it is that's driven Harry to this nearly destroyed him." Draco's voice broke, "The man I love is lying here half-dead--" he stopped suddenly realizing what he'd just revealed.

Hermione clasped his shoulder. "You still love him."

"Yes, of course," the pained whisper seemed torn from him. "How could I not? But," Draco's breath hitched, "it doesn't matter, Bookworm. He-Harry--Harry doesn't love me. He never did."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "How can you say that, Draco? Of course he loved you!"

Resigned, he wiped away a tear, "He told me, it was never about love for him." The young healer shrugged, "I suppose I just saw what I wanted to see. I forced something that wasn't there and this is the price. I'm learning to live with it, Bookworm."

"Oh, Draco. I don't think that's true. Whatever you thought saw, whatever you felt, it _was_ real. I saw it too. I know what love looks like. And it doesn't fade away just like that." She snapped her fingers. "Harry loved you, and I'd wager anything you like, that he loves you still."

Draco shook his head, "He didn't say it to hurt me, Bookworm. You know Harry doesn't lie. Our relationship just meant different things to each of us…" He scrubbed his hand over his face, "look, it really doesn't matter now. You go on your holiday. Dietty and I will look after Harry. Come round when you get back, he should be up for a short visit then."

Hermione hugged him. "I know this is hard for you. Seeing him like this, and feeling the way you do, but thank you, Draco. Thank you so much for taking this on. I couldn't trust Harry to anyone else."

He nodded, "It's fine, Hermione. Enjoy your holiday, and don't worry too much about Harry. He's over the most dangerous stage. It's just painful and unpleasant from here out."

Before he knew it, she and Ron were gone, though Dietty had come to inform him that Mistress Weasley had stocked the pantry and left instructions for Dietty to insure her master ate and took proper care of himself while tending to Harry Potter.

Draco rolled his eyes, but knew Dietty would have no problems navigating the kitchen or caring for the house, as she was quite familiar with Godric's Hollow, having served he and Harry there weekends and holidays when they retreated to the country to get away from bustling London and Draco's flat where they lived during the week.

During those brief moments he was able to leave Harry alone, sleeping fitfully through lulls in the detoxification and organ rejuvenation process, he was relieved that she was around. She'd been able to restore the cottage to a proper state of organization and cleanliness, while keeping Harry's personal tastes in mind. Cleanliness and familiarity would help when Harry was able to leave his bed.

She'd brought a few items for him and set up a guest room for his use, which he appreciated. It was hard enough being back at Godric's Hollow. Two years of memories threatened to overwhelm him, when he lowered his guard in spaces he and Harry had shared together, the living room, the kitchen, the solarium, the study, caring for Harry in the master suite was hard, some part of him still thought of it as _their_ room, _their_ bed. The non-descript guestroom, was a haven of sorts, a more neutral space, where they'd never spent late nights chatting, or working, or making love. He could retreat there and fortify the walls around his heart and mind.

On the fourth day after the detox regimen began, Harry woke, aching but lucid.

"Draco?"

A glass of refreshingly cool water was held up to his lips. "Slowly. Slowly, Harry. Small sips. Don't want to shock your stomach. Too much or too fast and you'll sick it up."

Harry nodded and took a few more small sips. "Bet--" he cleared his throat, "Better. Thank you."

Draco nodded absently; busy as he was, shooting off spells. When the last of the lights faded, he looked Harry over. Seemingly satisfied with what he'd found, Harry watched him make meticulous notes on a nearby sheet of parchment.

"So how are you feeling, Potter?"

Harry's brow furrowed, "I feel really weak, wrung out, and achy, but alright for the most part. Since when do you call me Potter?"

Draco turned, "I am your healer. Ours is a strictly professional relationship. However, if you would feel more comfortable I can use your given name."

Harry shook his head, though it caused his to suffer a touch of vertigo. "Oh, no. No don't do that, Draco, please. I-I can't deal with you going all cold and aloof on me, now. I-I'm still a bit muzzy on all that's happened. I need _you_, not Healer Malfoy. I need Draco, _my--my friend_, with me now. Please."

Draco sighed and closed his eyes briefly; it pained Harry that when they opened the grey orbs were shuttered, the bright flicker of life and keen intelligence, hidden away. "Alright, Healer Malfoy has stepped out. Now, Po-Harry, there's a great deal we need to discuss. Can you tell me what you last remember?"

Harry weakly pulled Draco's hand, until the blond healer was seated on the edge of his bed. "Sunday afternoon. We raided a farmhouse in Devon, near Bovey Tracey…" Harry's mind travelled back to the skirmish that resulted in the capture of the NCRCM leadership. He told Draco about bringing the insurgents in for questioning while other members of his team collected additional evidence needed for their trial before the Wizengamot. Adam Cannondale had been injured and was taken to St. Mungo's, Harry felt guilty that the young Auror, fresh out of training, had been injured so badly he might never again qualify for fieldwork. Angry at himself for getting a member of his team hurt Harry had come home and started drinking.

"Just to take the edge off, Draco. I had a firewhiskey or two, and then," Harry blushed, "well there's this witch in Clerical…she-um- she fancies me and invited herself over for a drink last week. She brought this fantastic scotch and left it over. We didn't-we didn't do anything, I swear, just talked," he added hastily.

Draco's face revealed nothing, though the hurt and jealousy raged within, "We're not together, Harry. Who you…date, is none of my business. But please, continue, you drank the firewhiskey and proceeded to scotch. How much did you drink? Do you remember?" He asked, his tone encouraging and non-judgmental, almost friendly. Almost.

Harry picked at his thumbnail, and stared down at his sheet, "No," he finally admitted, shame colouring his face and tone. "I don't know how much I had to drink. It was a lot, maybe the whole bottle. And…" he paused, "I think I may have finished the firewhiskey after."

Draco dropped his head, "Thank Merlin for Hermione," he whispered.

Harry looked up, "What was that?" he asked harshly.

Draco's eyes narrowed, "Don't take that tone with me Harry. You've been irresponsible, and reckless. If it hadn't been for Hermione checking up on you, we wouldn't be having this conversation now. More than likely, I'd be at your viewing. Understand? You nearly died, Harry. DIED!"

Harry blinked, "I-I didn't think--I"

"That's the problem," Draco snarled. "You didn't think! Merlin knows how long you've been drinking like this Harry. But you managed to seriously compromise your body. You've spent the last three days, nearly unconscious, regenerating all the damaged cells in your liver and kidneys, healing the veins in your throat that could have ruptured and caused you to bleed to death. OBVIOUSLY, you haven't been thinking!"

Harry looked away feeling Draco's disappointment, anger and fear, heavily on his shoulders. Draco took a deep breath and reined in his anger. "You have to make some serious changes Harry. No more alcohol. Not one drink. If that means staying out of the pubs to keep from temptation, then that's what you're going to have to do. I'm also recommending that you see a mind healer. Whatever issues that cause you to seek answers or escape through alcohol need to be addressed if you're going to fully recover." Draco took hold of Harry's hand with its square and calloused fingers, "Your friends love you Harry. They want you in their lives for a long time. You've been hurting yourself because something is wounded inside you. But it can be healed. You'll get better."

Harry shook his head, tears fell from his dulled green eyes, "No," he rasped "It won't. It can't ever get better. I'm tainted now." He pulled his hand away and turned on his side. "You should have let me die."

He cursed himself for his weakness, but he couldn't turn away, not when Harry was hurting so badly. Draco stretched out on the bed, and drew Harry's shaking form into his arms. "Tell me," he whispered. "Tell me what's hurting you, Harry. Let me help heal you."

Harry turned in his arms; Draco noticed how spiky his wet lashes were at so close a distance. "Why? Why do you care? After all the horrible things I said." Harry raised a shaky hand to Draco's cheek, "I know I hurt you. I couldn't help it. I-I'm so sorry Draco."

Draco closed his eyes, turning his face into that warm hand, after everything he could still feel such strength there, "You'll get through this, Harry," he said, avoiding the answers which were still, four months later, just too painful.

"I do love you, you know," Harry said quietly.

Draco squeezed his eyes closed tighter. "Don't say that," he rasped out. "Please, Harry don't."

"I can't help it. It's true. I've missed you so much. Everyday I've wanted to come after you. Beg you to come home. But I couldn't. I saw how happy you were. How you've moved on, and I knew I'd lost my chance forever. Plus I wouldn't dirty you like that. I'm so filthy, Angel, how could I love you and dirty you like that. Spread my filth on you?" Harry's breath hitched and Draco just knew the tears were falling. "But I wanted to. Merlin, help me, as filthy as I am, I wanted to touch you anyway."

Draco went still, mind working furiously. The answer was there somewhere. Why did Harry think he was dirty? Had he really broken things off between them because he felt soiled somehow? And worse, had he started drinking because their relationship ended, or to hide from this mysterious taint? Draco knew he had to go carefully. "Harry…why wouldn't you want me to love you?" He asked first, with all the tenderness and encouragement he could muster as he started to realize that much of the end of their relationship had been about what Harry had perceived.

Harry sniffed, "Because I'm filthy, Angel. I'm dirty, and spoiled now. You can't love that. But you tried. You kept trying, wanting to touch me and talk to me. You came and stayed by my bedside and I didn't understand why you wouldn't leave. You weren't supposed to still want me, still want to love me."

Draco's eyes snapped open. It went back to Ashcombe! Of course! Draco cursed himself seven kinds of fool. Something happened during Harry's abduction by the rogue wizard's collaborators! Something, Harry had never talked about, that never made it into the reports. Something so terrible, he'd pushed Draco away, something…His heart sped up and fear gripped him as his mind started connecting the clues. Not Harry. Please, please Merlin. Not his Harry. His sweet and darling Harry. But even as he denied it, his heart knew it was true. "How--how many times did they rape you, Harry?" He forced the words out, though they cut and burned in his throat and mouth, like ground glass.

Harry started to cry.

Tbc…and worth the wait I hope!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, and the licensed copyright holders including Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Bros., Inc. No money has been exchanged and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N: **Sinceit's my birthday, my gift to myself is posting another chapter, you are all just so fortunate to benefit from my largesse. I also accept tribute of cash, fuzzy plushy toys, additional chapters of my fav stories, and of course…reviews! grin This is slash, by the way, in case anyone missed that….so boy/boy love abounds…well, maybe not abounds, but it's in here somewhere. And as always my deep appreciation to my beta WindandSummer! And big big thanks to those who've reviewed so far.

**Road to Recovery**

**III**.

"I didn't want you to know, ever," Harry sobbed. "I-I tried keeping myself away from you, but you'd still come, still hold me in the night, still touch me. You'd read to me when I had nightmares. You weren't supposed to do that. You were supposed to be able to tell how filthy I was and stay away, but you wouldn't you'd tell me sweet things, tell me you loved me, and the more I tried to get you to leave me, the more kind and attentive you were. It was when I went back to work after the mandatory leave. You sent me roses. I knew it then, that I'd have to hurt you to force you away. Merlin Draco, it was the last thing I wanted but I had to, don't you see, I couldn't…you're so beautiful and good I couldn't spread that to you, infect you. You wanted to kiss me, touch me, but how could I when Carleton had put himself in my mouth, used my hands on his body. I-I couldn't!"

As the pieces came together Draco tucked Harry's head under his chin, pressed his face into the soft inky mass of tangles, and let his tears fall, until the smell of sweat and sickness mingled with salt. He should have seen it. The way Harry jerked away from him, when he reached out to touch him, the distance he'd put between them in bed. He should have known! "Oh, Harry." He ground out. "I'm so sorry. I failed you."

Harry pulled back to stare at him, "No, no, not you, Angel, never you. It was me. I'm the one who failed. I was weak. I got myself captured and let--let them do those things to me!"

Draco shook his head, "They drugged you, Harry. They ambushed you and forced Muggle drugs on you so you couldn't fight them. I read your medical charts, Merlin, Harry, it's a miracle they didn't kill you with all the shite they injected you with. It wasn't your fault!"

"But…I wanted it," Harry said finally, voice near gone, shame pressed it down so heavily. "I…I came…"

Draco laid his lips against Harry's forehead, "Is that what they told you when they were hurting you?" Harry's averted gaze was the answer he needed. Draco frowned, "Your body responded to a physical stimulus, Harry. That doesn't mean you wanted what they did to you. You couldn't fight them off, the drugs made your body compliant, and more sensitive. Nothing they said to you, nothing they did, matters, unless you let it matter. You had no choice and they forced you."

"Angel?" Harry's voice was broken and shy.

"Yes, Harry," Draco pressed his lips more firmly against Harry's forehead.

"Can-can you make it go away? Make me forget? I tried. If I drank enough, sometimes I wouldn't remember, or it'd be all fuzzy like it hadn't really happened, like it was a bad dream. I want to forget."

Draco forced his anger away. It couldn't help Harry now; it would only confuse him, as his former lover was in no state to understand that Draco's fury wasn't directed at him. He shuttled it off to a corner of his mind to attend later. The same corner where his father's most damning legacy was hidden. He set his rage beside the incantations and directions for the darkest spells and potions he'd once trained in. He was a healer, and as such had access to Azkaban to treat ailing convicts. He would unleash the full weight of his wrath. 3 men were going to die, slowly and in excruciating pain. But he could plot and plan later. It was Harry who needed his full attention now.

"I can't make you forget, Harry. But I can help with the pain of it. And tomorrow, I'm going to bring a friend here. Healer Marsh. She's very good at what she does. She'll help soothe the rawness, and I'll be with you. I'll help you through this Harry."

Harry's eyes were fearful but resolved. "I-I don't want to, but I will, if you think seeing her will help. If you'll stay with me."

"It will help," Draco said softly, but confidently. "And I will stay with you," he promised.

Harry nodded and tucked himself closer, "Draco? Angel?" he asked after they'd laid there in silence for some time.

"Yes, Harry?"

"I-if I get better. When I'm not so filthy anymore. Would you--will you come home?"

Fresh tears slid down Draco's cheeks. "You were _never_ filthy or dirty or anything of the kind, Harry. And you _will_ get better. It's a matter of when." He kissed him again.

"When, then," Harry said softly. "Will you? Will you come home then?"

Draco sighed. "I--We'll talk about it Harry. I know now that you were hurting and trying to push me away, but…" Draco bit his lips, "I--, just sleep for now, Harry. We'll talk later." Draco rubbed his back, making shushing noises until he'd lulled Harry into deep and restful sleep. He lay there a while, but the demands of his body made it so he eventually had to carefully disentangle himself.

He went to the guest room to get cleaned up, and changed his clothes. The whole time thinking of the desperation in Harry's question. Could he really go back? He wanted to. He ached for it. He missed Harry terribly. He knew in the last few months he's just been going through the motions, marking time. He'd thrown himself into his work, forced himself to socialize with his friends, dinners with Pansy and Blaise, catching the occasional film at the cinema with Neville, secretly, of course. But it all seemed so empty. As empty as his flat when he came home at the end of each day.

He missed Harry, knew that it was Harry who'd brought the spark of fulfilment and enjoyment to his life. He understood now, but that didn't make the pain go away. Sometimes, he still heard Harry's bitter sneering voice ringing in his ears. Things had been strained between them for a few weeks, since Harry had come out of hospital. Draco thought he just needed time to adjust. He knew being captured had been a severe blow to Harry's confidence. But things were getting worse. And then it had all just fallen apart in a flurry of angry cutting words. It had been obvious Harry had had a bad day. The Ministry was considering cutting the Auror's budget again. Draco had wanted to show he understood, that he commiserated with Harry's frustration at the bureaucrats. He'd hugged his boyfriend, "Don't let them get to you, Love. It's just the Minister trying to flex his muscles. I seriously doubt cuts to the Auror department will be approved. He'd tried to kiss Harry's cheek, but his boyfriend pulled away.

"What does it matter?' Harry spat. "It's not like anyone cares what happens to Aurors anyway. At least they don't unless there's some mad wizard running around threatening them. Then they care and want to know why there aren't more personnel taking care of the problem. Sheep and sycophants, I swear! It's not that anyone cares whether there are enough of us to keep each other safe."

Draco had reached out for Harry's hand, but again he pulled away. "I care, Harry. I love you; of course I want you to be safe."

"Love? Oh that's rich. What would a snivelling little pervert like you know about love anyway? We don't love each other Draco." Harry had smirked, "Well I certainly don't love you. We fuck. A little sexual gratification and I do mean little," he leered, "is what we get out of this arrangement. We're just a couple of blokes shagging each other for fun. Fags, poncey poofters, fall in love with other men. I'm no poofter, Malfoy."

Harry had gone into the flat's kitchen, leaving Draco speechless and broken-hearted in their living room. That night while Harry was out with Ron and Seamus, Draco had tearfully packed all Harry's things and had Dietty deliver them to Godric's Hollow. Anything they'd purchased jointly, which since he'd purchased the flat shortly after their first anniversary, when they'd decided to live together, was nearly everything besides his wardrobe and a few personal oddments, Draco put in storage. He explained in the letter he'd left for Harry in their now barren living room, that Harry could take whatever he wanted from the items in storage, that Draco had no interest in them. The locks and wards would be changed by the end of the next day, and Draco didn't want to see him again.

_I'm not sure what these last three years have meant to you. I thought I'd found the love of my life. I thought we had something special, what everyone hopes for and few ever achieve. It seems I've been living a lie. I thought you loved me, Harry, but then I'm just a fag, what would a pervert know about love anyway._

He hadn't bothered to sign the note. He spent the night on Pansy's couch, getting pissed and cursing Harry and himself for trusting in love. The next week he'd spent at a hotel in Muggle London while his flat was redecorated. Minimalist, he'd said to the decorator he'd hired. Spartan, cold, and lifeless was the result. He hadn't cared. Now Harry wanted them to try again. Could he do it? Open his heart to greater hurt? He'd wanted a home, and thought he'd found it, its destruction had nearly wrecked him too. Could he trust that Harry truly wanted a life with him? Draco sat in the living room sipping lukewarm tea, noting that none of the décor had changed from when he and Harry had had the cottage built two years ago. There was no question that he'd stand by his friend through his recovery. But would he regain his lover? He just didn't know.

Deciding that there were no easy answers and that he wasn't going to find them sitting there doing nothing, Draco did what he did best when facing an emotional upheaval, he went to work. He pulled the Gregory files and spread them over the coffee table going over the test results he'd been too tired and distracted to read carefully the day before.

A slow smile crossed his lips as his reached the end of the report. The treatment was working! By the end of a new course, three more treatments, Melissa would be cured! He was ecstatic. Of course, Healer Malfoy didn't do ecstatic in public. It was just another moment where he wished things between he and Harry were different, when he wished he could share this feeling of triumph with someone who loved him, whom he loved in return. He sighed, while not Harry, there were others who'd be heartened by the news. He pinched some Floo powder and told Muriel and Nurse Abrahms who'd been working closely with the young witch. Draco sat back satisfied that his ingenuity, daring and skill as a healer had combined to give this girl a chance to have a full rich life.

"Muriel, will you schedule the third treatment a week later than usual?" His assistant made a note.

"Don't worry, it won't disrupt the process overly much. I wouldn't want to push it more than a week, but if we keep to the usual schedule, Melissa will be in hospital for her birthday. She's turning eleven and I'll be damned if her Hogwarts letter comes addressed to St. Mungo's I want her to receive it home, like a normal little witch, like all her yearmates."

Muriel smiled a little, "You're just a softie, Healer Malfoy, admit it."

"I'll admit nothing of the sort," he said with a haughty sniff, though his eyes were smiling.

Muriel just nodded knowingly. "How is your emergency patient? IS there anything you need from the office today?"

The light in Draco's grey eyes, dimmed, "He is better. I won't need anything from my office, or Nurse Abrahms assistance. Thank you, Muriel." He sighed, "Patch me over to Healer Marsh's office please."

"Of course, Healer Malfoy, have a good day," she said, saddened that this emergency seemed to siphon the joy from him, not that he was every overly demonstrative in public. And calls to Healer Marsh usually indicated something serious. As she transferred him, she hoped things would get better for her young medi-wizard soon.

After a few moments, Draco's head appeared in Healer Marsh's office. His face was grimmer than it'd been before. But he was hopeful that this too would end well, like his treatments for Melissa Gregory.

"Draco! How are you? I have to say I'm surprised to see you; usually Muriel handles your referrals. Is everything alright?"

Draco smiled at the bouncy older medi-witch, "It's nice to see you too. And I'm fine thanks for asking. As for this referral. It's a special case." Draco paused, "I need your utmost discretion on this Lydia. Absolute secrecy. Notes in one centralized file that I will keep, no mentions to your assistants. No discussing this case with your department head."

"You're quite serious about this," she said taking in the set to his jaw and the unwavering determination in his eyes.

"Utterly."

Healer Marsh sighed, she knew he wouldn't require this of her if it weren't serious. He wouldn't have even asked if he didn't trust in her professionalism. "You have my word, Draco. And just who is this mystery patient. With this kind of secrecy and security it's almost as if I'll be tending the Minister of Magic, himself."

Draco snorted, "Not that idiot. I could care less whether The Prophet got hold of his medical records. He's high profile though, and if this were leaked to the media…it would be catastrophic for his recovery."

She nodded. "It's your ex."

"Yes, it's Harry."

She pursed her lips, thinking. "Alright I can clear my schedule for a few hours each day for the next week. What kind of ailment will I be treating? Depression? Dementia? OCD?"

Draco shook his head, ice-blond locks flying, as he'd neglected to tie it back that morning, "Post-traumatic Stress, based on sexual assault victimization, and Substance Abuse, alcoholism. Maybe Depression as well, but I think the trauma is the underlying cause."

"Merciful, Merlin," she breathed. Lydia Marsh had 30 years of experience dealing with rape victims. Every case horrified her. It never got any easier, though she considered her work with assault victims some of her best. Most did, and she knew this is why Draco had contacted her. Not every mind healer was cut out to do the sensitive work needed for a rape victim's recovery. "I'll be there tomorrow at half ten."

Draco nodded, "Thank you Lydia. We'll be expecting you." Draco was about to ring off when he remembered something vitally important. "Lydia, you'll have to Floo from my office. The grate here is warded for limited access. Muriel will let you in."

"Alright then. Thank you, I wouldn't fancy getting caught in a Floo trap. I'll see you both tomorrow, Draco."

"Tomorrow."

Draco ended the firecall, glad that Lydia would be able to fit them in her schedule. He knew she'd mainly attend to Harry, but that his full recovery would best be served by a few sessions with Harry's friends. Not only so they could be made aware of warning signs, but so they could address their own feelings about Harry's illness, and in some cases their roles as enablers. It would be a group session, and Lydia would make arrangement for individual appointments as she thought necessary, afterwards. Draco sighed realizing that this would be the first time he'd had anyone in the flat since he'd moved Harry out. But it needed to be done. Harry's friends would have to gather somewhere large enough to accommodate them all, and private, if not very comfortable. He had no illusions about the flat's sterile atmosphere.

He penned several short notes, inviting Harry's closest friends, the ones he considered family, including the ones who'd been alienated by their break-up, to his apartment in a fortnight for a Saturday afternoon discussion. It was enough time that Harry would be healthy enough to attend, if that's what he and Lydia decided. He sent the notes off with Hedwig and Regina, his own eagle owl.

He thought about waking Harry, but decided there was no rush; the recovering man's body had been through quite the ordeal after all, not to mention the emotional upheaval Harry had endured. He left Harry to his own devices, though he perched in the bedside chair for the rest of the day, having meals only because Dietty forced them on him. His mind was still whirling with all Harry had revealed and what it meant for their futures, individually and together.

Harry woke on his own the next morning, ravenous, Draco had given him plenty of fluids to prevent dehydration, and nutrient potions, while he was semi-conscious, but this was the first time Harry had said he was actually hungry. Draco was pleased, and asked Dietty to bring them something. It was an odd choice for breakfast food perhaps, but they made quick work of the delicious noodle soup Dietty made for them. Then Draco levitated Harry to the bath. Though they were the same height, Harry had always had more mass than Draco, and even in his weakened and thinner state, he was too heavy for the young medi-wizard to move on his own.

Draco bathed him, washing away the stale odour of sickness and sweat that had clung to Harry over the last few days. Much to the relief of both. And he'd done a good job keeping his touch professional and impersonal though he did struggle now and then with a few lascivious thoughts.

When they'd finished, Harry was dressed in clean pyjamas. Draco fought for control as he slipped the pewter snitch buttons through their holes on the navy blue silk pyjamas. True, they were Harry's favourite pair, and it was important that he feel as comfortable as possible for the upcoming meeting with Healer marsh, but they were also a gift from Draco.

Harry sensed his ex-boyfriend's distress and gently lifted Draco's hands away, finishing the buttons himself, though his hands were shaking with the effort by the time he'd done. Draco nodded his gratitude, though really he longed to kiss Harry his thanks, as he had so many times before. With wet eyes he settled Harry in the bed, then turned away to regain his composure.

"Draco, Angel?" Harry called softly, but Draco didn't turn around.

"Please love, look at me."

Draco squared his shoulders and finally turned to face the man in the bed. Harry held out his hands, "Come to me Angel."

Draco took slow steps to the bed and sat on its edge. "Harry--" his voice was an agony.

Before either could say another word, reopen old wounds, or grasp at healing the raw edges, the Floo chime sounded. "That's the mind-healer," Draco rasped, "Remember she's here to help you, Harry." He squeezed the squared hand with its blunt fingers, and left to meet Healer Marsh.

Tbc…


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Not JKR, the boys don't belong to me, though it would be rather nice if they did…

**A/N: **Just a reminder that this is slash. And there are some not nice things in this chapter, so warnings for language as well as violence. As always my deep appreciation to my beta WindandSummer! And to all who've reviewed, thanks muchly! **dablksaiyangurl:** Yes Snape's around somewhere, will he make an appearance, who knows? grin and **mechan**, thanks for the birthday wishes. This one's definitely more Draco-oriented, Harry's been busy in other stories grin but he'll surface some more here too. Thanks for reading!

**Road to Recovery**

**IV. **

"Lydia. Thanks again for coming."

"This is my job, Draco, of course I'd come," She answered as she perfunctorily brushed at her green healer's robes. "Where is he?"

"In his bedroom. It's just this way." He led.

She looked around as they made their way up the stairs. The styles of both men, meshed very well, in this space. She could clearly see Draco's style in some of the artwork displayed, and the colours chosen in the cottage's accessories. Unfortunately, she couldn't say anything about that, knowing that their relationship had ended badly, though she wondered now, how much Harry's victimization had contributed to what she'd thought was a very solid and loving partnership, and whether the damage done to their bond could be repaired.

They reached the master suite and Draco knocked on the doorframe, "Harry," he said putting his head through, "Healer Marsh is here. Are you ready to see her?"

In the bed, Harry was pale-faced, he shook his head. "I don't think I'll ever be ready, but bring her in anyway." He offered an unsteady smile.

Harry was surprised. He hadn't known what exactly to expect, but the pleasant-faced, cheerily plump witch with her bright, engaging eyes and stylish grey bob, wasn't it. Healer Lydia Marsh looked to be the sort who was someone's grandmother, who baked in her spare time and shared gossip over tea. She didn't look like the kind of person who regularly delved into people's minds to confront their nightmares. Perhaps this was a mistake. He didn't want to hurt anyone else with his problems.

Draco stood at the foot of the bed, while Healer Marsh, made herself comfortable in the bedside chair. "I know that look, Harry. Trust me, I do know what I'm doing, I don't shock easily, and sadly, I've seen experiences like yours many times before. You don't have to worry about protecting me." Harry stiffened, surprised at her perceptiveness. The healer smiled sadly, "As I said, I have a lot of experience with this; I can make some good guesses to your thoughts, because of your reactions. Now, as Healer Malfoy s--"

"Draco," Harry said softly.

Healer Marsh held his eyes and nodded, "Alright. As Draco said, I am Healer Lydia Marsh. You can call me Healer Marsh or Lydia, whichever would make you most comfortable."

Harry held out his hand, "Nice to meet you Healer Marsh. I'm Harry Potter. Please call me Harry."

Draco wasn't surprised at the delineation Harry made between the medical professional, his healer, and his friend, his ex, someone he had a deep personal relationship with. It didn't bother him that Harry didn't want to see him as a medi-wizard. He was establishing comfortable boundaries and articulating his support needs, by clearly noting who went into which categories. It was especially important, as Lydia explained, during this first session, Draco would also be entering Harry's mind. His purpose was to soothe, to keep Harry from panicking until he acclimatized to Lydia's presence in his mind.

Draco took his place as the medi-witch's shoulder, and held Harry's hand. He looked deep into Harry's frightening green eyes, pouring all the reassurance, affection and care into his own gaze as he could. He and Lydia raised their wands, he took a deep breath preparing for the unknown, but determined to face whatever demons plagued Harry's mind, and together they spoke the incantation.

"Legilimens."

It was like nothing he'd expected or ever experienced. It was like jumping head first into dark raging waters on a moonless night. Ghosts and guilt surged around him, the dark of angst and regret flowed into him, nearly freezing him in place, and all around him shame, deep abiding shame, a sense of weakness, helplessness. He could do nothing, he would be hurt, again and again, he was nothing.

And no one would come for him. He was unworthy, soiled, a freak. He could hear them saying so.

"Freak!"

"You know you like it like this, slut!"

"You're a waste of flesh!"

"Nothing!"

"Nobody!"

"Failure!"

"So, your murderous freak godfather is dead? Proper end to your kind…"

"Kill the spare."

"Crisis of conscience, Harry? Kill me boy, and you're no better than a common murderer."

"Why weren't you Aurors here sooner? My husband's dead! It's your fault!"

"Aww, is ickle Harry scared?"

"Scared, Potter?"

"You'll amount to nothing, boy!"

"So this is the great Harry Potter? The Death Eaters were easy on you. You'll not be so lucky this time"

"Suck it!"

"That's right, you filthy little cunt. You love it like this don't you?"

"Open your mouth, Potter!"

"Merlin, you're tight. Maybe those rumours about you being a shirt-lifter were just that."

"Filthy!"

"Dirty little freak!"

"Freak!"

"Freak!"

"FREAK!"

And as suddenly as he'd been tossed into the deep, he was lifted out of the quagmire. The cacophony of voices separated and was dulled. Here was his, no, Harry's, Harry's Uncle Vernon, Harry's Aunt Petunia, and Cousin Dudley. Here was the Dark Lord. Here was Bellatrix LeStrange. Here was Severus Snape. Here were Ashcombe's accomplices, Reading, and Betterton. Reading, a weedy, spineless sort, a follower, and Betterton, sadist, rapist. Taunting and teasing Harry as he hurt him over and over again, ripped and pounded into him. He started to panic, the feelings rushing back, the pain in his throat, the burning and bleeding from…but then again he was lifted out of those memories, the sharpness of them faded.

Lydia, he remembered. Lydia was there too, assessing the worst of Harry's mental wounds, keeping Draco and Harry from being dragged down into them. Draco firmed his resolve. He was there to help Harry. He couldn't do that if the horrors claimed him as well. He focused on weaving a soothing presence around the filters Lydia erected. Harry would be able to view these memories, but held in Draco's protective comfort. Everywhere he touched, every raw and aching place, he left traces of himself. I am here, they said. You are not alone. They cannot hurt you anymore. You are safe. You are loved. You are strong. Beautiful. You are a survivor. You have won over them, they cannot harm you. They have no power over you. You are beautiful, whole, loved. Loved.

Over and over again he spun the litany, the silver trails of his own magical aura drifting purposefully through the blackest pits of Harry's mind. It was tiring, but he pushed himself on, until finally, he felt a tug at his own consciousness. Lydia again, and knew it was time to return to himself.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly, Draco blinked, and found himself looking into Lydia's calming brown eyes. "You've done very well, Draco."

He blinked again, and shook his head, fighting off the lingering disembodied feeling. He wasn't surprised to find himself on the bed propped against the bedhead. During mind-healings it wasn't unusual for the Legilimens' body to place itself safely or comfortably. He looked down to find Harry asleep in his lap. "How is he?"

Lydia frowned, "He should have been seen by a mind-healer long ago, Draco. As his guardians were obviously unfit, Albus Dumbledore should have seen to Harry's welfare. He was remiss, forcing an unprepared boy into the position of Saviour, without any real support or emotional balance."

Draco sighed, "Whatever he should have done, is moot now, Lydia. Dumbledore is dead. Though knowing what I do now, I'm rather sorry for it as I'd like to strangle the old goat myself."

Healer Marsh smiled grimly, "I might've had to assist." She shook her head, "that he could allow all that…Well, at least it's being seen to now.

"The damage I saw was extensive. The wounds and scars from his earliest abuse primed him for the destructive response to this most recent assault. As you saw Harry's psyche is rife with insecurity, self-recrimination, and harmful indoctrination. I've filtered some of the worst memories so he can recall and face them with the necessary mental distance to overcome the trauma of what he's experienced, but it won't be any of it easy. I've barely started and already I can tell there's months of work ahead of us."

"It's nearly seven now," she smirked at Draco's astonished look, "Yes we've been under for a long while. Intensive treatment is what he needs now. It won't be like this for long, but I'm clearing my schedule to work with him exclusively. I will be here each day at 9, and work with Harry until four. We'll break for meals of course, but I think that's the best treatment option. After a week, we can reduce sessions to twice week for three hours. After that?" She shrugged slightly, "We'll wait and see how he progresses, but I'm hopeful, we can gradually downgrade from weekly two hour sessions, to fortnightly two hour sessions, until he's fully in recovery."

Draco nodded solemnly, making plans. "Whatever he needs, Lydia. I'm here for all of it."

She patted his shoulder. "He's lucky to have you, Draco. Not everyone has such a devoted partner. He'll benefit greatly from not having to recover alone."

"I'm not--"

Lydia shook her head, "Whatever happened between you, and we'll work on that as well, for both of you as I sense it's a wound your mind also bears, matters little now. It's obvious he trusts you to be here for him, and you love him enough to do it."

Draco went to protest, but shut his mouth firmly over the ready lie on his lips. The older medi-witch was right. And hadn't he just moments ago been making plans to insure, he'd be able to be with Harry as much as he needed? Impatiently he tugged loose hair behind his ear. "Alright, Lydia. So tomorrow at 9?"

"Yes," she said radiating understanding and sympathy. "I'll see myself out, but be sure to wake him. He needs to eat and keep his strength up."

Draco idly nodded, having already dismissed his colleague from his thoughts. His thoughts were focused on the man sleeping beside him.

Harry hadn't relinquished his grasp on Draco's hand, throughout the long session. His long, slender fingers were sore, his hand cramped from holding one position. The young healer didn't mind. He thought it rather endearing actually, how Harry had tucked his hand up under his chin, clothed to him as a child might a favoured blanket or toy that represented security and warmth. Draco was warmed that Harry thought of him that way.

He shuffled down further onto the bed and ran his free hand through Harry's unruly hair. Like this, sleeping and secure in the knowledge of his safety, Harry seemed so much younger. Innocent, untouched by the horrors he'd lived through, the tragedies and travesties he'd survived. Draco had an insane urge to bundle him up and spirit him away to somewhere wholly safe, somewhere he'd never be subject to another harsh word or brutal attack. He sighed, knowing it was impossible. No such place existed, but it was a nice dream, one that lingered as his own tiredness overcame him and he drifted into sleep.

Disoriented murmurs and the weight of a familiar body on his chest pulled Draco from his dozing. Harry was shifting, nuzzling his chest, and Draco had to smile at the snuffling he'd missed and grown unaccustomed to in the last few months. He feathered a caress over the back of Harry's head, carding his fingers through the messy locks and taking a moment to savour the feel of them. As Harry grew more agitated, Draco shook him gently, whispering that he was safe, but it was time to awaken.

Harry shifted restlessly for a few moments, but Draco's voice soon reached him and his eyes blinked open, slowly moving across the room, taking in his surroundings and registering his company, as though he'd lost track of the where and why of his location.

"I dreamed such horrible things, Angel," he said finally, his voice dry and throaty. "But then you were there and everything was better." He clung tighter to Draco and nuzzled further on his chest. "My own Angel, there to protect me and guide me from the dark," Harry whispered and pressed a kiss against Draco's chest.

The seal of affection and need seemed to burn right through Draco's robes and into his heart. He so desperately wanted them to be like this, to have that affection, that closeness, be real. But this wasn't who they were anymore. He knew that Harry probably was confused, perhaps had lost sight of the last few months, and thought that Draco's presence in his bed meant they were still together. The disorientation would pass, for now though, no matter how he wanted it or how good it felt. He had no right to Harry's kisses, and couldn't in good faith encourage him, when he was still struggling with the confusion that followed intensive mind-healing. Draco tangled his fingers in the hair at the base of Harry's skull and gently tugged until Harry raised his face. "Not dreams, Harry. Nightmares and memories. Do you remember Healer Marsh?"

Harry pulled back and closed his eyes. "Oh Merlin, it wasn't dreams then. You-you saw?"

Draco reclaimed his hands and brushed away the tear determinedly working its way down his face. "I saw. I was there, Harry."

Harry turned away, "You must think me so disgusting, now. How could you--? I-I'm sorry you had to see that."

Draco pulled Harry against his chest, "No more running away. No more denial," he said against his ear. "Yes. I saw. I don't think you're disgusting, I could never think that about you. I'm sorry you had to live it, Harry. I saw what you had to endure Harry, but it didn't--what they did is no reflection on you. They're the disgusting ones, but their baseness, vileness, perversion; their misguided notions, their hatred, their hypocrisy, it didn't touch you. It didn't make you like them. You could never be like them, Harry. And I'm not sorry that I got to see. I'm not sorry you trusted me with your pain. I'm not sorry about that at all." Impulsively Draco dropped a kiss into Harry's hair, but pulled back when his bed partner stiffened. "I-I care about you, Harry. I always will. And I'll be here for you. I promise." He sat up and called for Dietty who brought them a light supper, and casually filled Harry in on the happenings at the clinic and hospital while they ate. He also told Harry about Healer marsh's schedule, which caused him to make a face but he didn't protest.

"I guess I need it," Harry said resigned. "I'm really messed up."

Draco grasped his hand across the dinner tray. "No, Harry. It's not like that. You've been hurt. Badly. And you never received the medical attention to heal. Now all those old wounds are infected and festering. Healer Marsh is going to help you heal them. If you'd had proper healing years ago, you wouldn't be suffering the kinds of nightmares you still do. You wouldn't be so quick to blame yourself for things you can't prevent. It's not that there's so much _wrong_ with you, as you're not as healthy as you could be. You were never given the tools to be properly healthy, and the people who should have protected you, made sure you got the healing you needed. _They_ failed _you,_ Harry. Dumbledore, the Order, _they failed you_.

"You need to learn how to accept that the horrible things that have happened to you weren't your fault. It wasn't a lack on your part that allowed Ashcombe's people to hurt you. They forced you. It was their choice to harm you. You didn't have a choice. The same with your hideous Muggle relatives, you didn't have a choice! Merlin, Harry, with the kind of conditioning they forced on you to be compliant and believe you were worthless, it's a miracle you survived that place at all, let alone with any sense of your own personality. Healer Marsh will help you, and I'll be here to help you too. I'm not leaving you Harry. You're a good man, a kind and wonderful, special man. And no matter what else, I will always be your friend. I will stand by your side and help you any way I can."

Harry's eyes grew teary, "You really are my Angel you know," he said softly and squeezed Draco's fingers. "Thank you, Draco."

That night when Draco was preparing to leave for the guestroom, Harry's hand shot out and held him still.

"Stay."

It was such a heart-felt plea, Draco couldn't refuse. He quickly retrieved his pyjamas and returned to the Harry's room. They started on either side of the bed, content with just the proximity of the other, but their bodies remembered what they'd had in each other's arms, warmth and safe-haven, a sense of being cherished and valued. Their bodied craved touch, craved recognition of how they were meant to be. And as they had hundreds of times before, they woke in a tangle of locks and limbs. Flushed from both embarrassment and the lingering effects of the dream he'd woken from, Draco hastily slipped from the bed to change and ready himself for the day. A few hard fast tugs in the shower and an admonishment to the head not on his shoulders and he felt ready to return to Harry's side and help him through his own morning ablutions. As he was washing Harry's hair, a rivulet of water meandered down Harry's chest, and despite himself Draco was captivated by his journey. He barely managed to bit back his moan when the droplets eased over a peaked nut-brown nipple, and blushed furiously when he realized he'd been caught out.

"It's alright, Draco. I like that I can still make you hot, scrawny and pasty as I am."

Draco shook his head, trying to dislodge the image, "It-it's unprofessional, an-and…I'm here as your friend Harry, it's wrong of me to--"

Harry grasped his chin and held the silvery grey gaze with is own, "I like that I still turn you on," he repeated, nearly purring. "I want you, Draco. I want us. I-I know I'm not ready now. But I will be. I want you in every part of my life, in my heart, in our house, in our bed. Knowing some part of you still wants me…" Harry's eyes flitted away and back, brutal honesty replacing his earlier bravado, "it makes me feel there's something to fight for. I won't push, but I want you to know how I feel."

Encouraged by Harry's honesty, Draco took his own leap of faith, and brushed his soapy thumb over the hardened nubbin, smiling at the shudder that ran through Harry's body. "I've never wanted anything or anyone, the way I want you. I miss us, Harry. I want to be back in all those places. I have something to fight for too, but I don't want there to be pressure on either one of us right now. I'm not ready for a relationship." Draco smirked, "I'm still reeling from being chucked by my ex. When I'm ready. You'll be the second one to know."

Harry smiled, though it was a pained one. "He was an idiot to walk out on you."

Draco brushed his lips against Harry's temple. "Then I was an idiot for letting him go. Luckily we've been given a second chance, and we're both much smarter now." He winked as he sat back and flipped the switch for the handheld showerhead to rinse Harry off. "Lydia will be here soon," Draco said, once the playful atmosphere had faded to something more serious. "Are you feeling well enough to see her downstairs, or would you rather be in bed?"

Harry closed his eyes as Draco ran the showerhead over his hair, "Downstairs. I've lost track of the days, but I'm sure I've been in bed for ages." When he opened his eyes embarrassment was colouring his cheeks, "Um-if I remember correctly, it's pretty filthy down there though. Maybe it'd be better--"

Draco sniffed, "Filthy is an understatement, Potter. It was an absolute abomination. When was the last time you cleaned?"

The high colour blossomed, "I haven't cleaned. Um--it's been--I couldn't stand to change a thing after Dietty brought my things. I don't think anything would be unpacked at all if she hadn't done it when you sent her. It got messy, but I couldn't bring myself to care."

Draco ran his hand over Harry's sharp shoulder blade. Affection, absolution. Harry sighed. "Well, thank Merlin for Dietty, then," Draco said softly. "She's tidied up everything, so you needn't be embarrassed Harry. Only Mione and I saw what it was like before."

Harry brought Draco's hand around and held it. "Thank you."

The blond nodded. "It's alright. Now let's get you dressed. The females in your life, the house-elf included, will have my head, if you haven't had breakfast by the time Lydia arrives."

Breakfast was simple but hearty in consideration of Harry's weakened condition and need for substantive but not overwhelming nutrition. He also dutifully forced down the several nasty-tasting potions Draco forced on him with minimal complaint, which he thought was quite the accomplishment.

Lydia arrived exactly at 9 and they set up in the cottage's cosy living room. Harry and Draco shared the couch, Harry holding firmly onto Draco's hand, while Lydia took the suede armchair in front of them.

"I'm going to be setting up additional filters today, Harry. These will be around some of your more damaging memories like yesterday, but I'll also weave some around the impulses that drive you to drink. Because of the detoxification, you no longer have a physical need for alcohol, but the psychological and emotional need is still there." She pulled out her wand. "Now like all filters these will fade in time, but by then you will have the emotional stability to handle them. And like yesterday, Draco will accompany me. You needn't feel scared or lost. When things feels like they're getting to be too much, rely on his presence and strength to keep yourself from being subsumed by the emotions evoked by the memories we'll be shielding. Are you ready?"

Harry drew a deep breath, "As I'll ever be," he said gripping Draco's hand tighter.

Draco stroked the fingers of his free hand across the tight knot of their clasped hands. "Relax, Harry. Remember, these are memories. Nothing we see can touch you in the here and now. When we leave them behind they can't hurt you again. You're safe and I'm here."

Harry gave a shot nod and loosened his fingers a little, but moved closer to Draco's side, leaning into the healer.

Lydia caught Draco's eye to see whether Harry was ready to begin. He nodded and she raised her wand higher. "Let's get started. Legilimens."

"Nothing good will come of your having that boy here Vernon. He'll amount to nothing. And you'll have wasted all your time and money on him. Those freaks have a never dropping him off here. As if you'd want him when none of them do!" Harry's aunt Marge was younger but still large, a tiny, black-haired boy stood in the corner, head bowed, as the grown-ups continued to talk as though he wasn't there.

"You are a saint for being so generous and opening your home to your good-for-nothing in-laws' brat. I'm just sure he'll end up trouble, probably be locked away unless he gets himself killed like his drunkard father and he'll _deserve everything he gets_!" She sniffed, though it sounded more like an overly wet slurp, and sat back smug and self-satisfied, to munch on yet another biscuit.

Lydia worked quickly, distancing Harry and Draco from the hurtful words. Draco lacing his presence in the shield. _They were cruel and spiteful. You deserve nothing but love, Harry, nothing but kindness._ Were the whispers he left behind and he fell into yet another memory of deprivation and misplaced blame.

They surfaced for lunch, brought out of their trance-like states by a small chime Healer Marsh set, and began to talk about what Harry remembered. It wasn't enough to place filters and provide distance from the hurts of his past. To gain a healthier sense of self Harry had to face he emotional damage wreaked on him. In halting whispers he allowed himself to really talk about how he felt about the Dursleys, about the way he was raised. The remnants of his soup were long cold by the time he'd stumbled to a stop and he'd near crawled into Draco's lap.

"That's enough for today," Lydia decided, finishing the last of her notes and handing them over to Draco to be placed in Harry's medical file. "You've done really well today, Harry." She approached him carefully and smiled widely when he reached out to her. She hugged him and patted the side of his face. "It's hard, and it hurts, but you really are getting better. Tomorrow we're going to touch on some more recent memories. There's a pattern to what you're remembering, how you're remembering. Feeling as though you deserve bad things that happen to you, that they're your punishment, well that idea obviously was planted when you were a young child. You need to face some of these more recent things and learn to see the truth there. Rest now, maybe go for a walk, if your Healer thinks you're up to it," she winked at Draco. "I'll see you in the morning."

Harry nodded and when she'd gone, Draco stood. "She's right it's time to get you on your feet. Do you feel like going outside?"

Harry dropped his head in his hands, "I suppose. Gods, Draco I feel--I'm such a mess!"

Draco went to his knees and pulled Harry's hands away from his face. "You're not a mess, Harry. There's a lot you have to work through, but you're doing fine. We'll get through this."

Harry sighed, "I hate being so weak. And everything's so raw, like it's all been pulled right open."

Draco pushed himself up on Harry's knees, "You're not weak," he said sternly, "You're healing. That takes time and energy. And of course it's raw, you've been hiding from all these painful things, pushing them aside so you wouldn't have to deal with them, and when you couldn't push them aside and ignore them anymore, they took over your life. You used alcohol as a crutch to get through, and that didn't work either, you don't have that crutch anymore, so now you're having to face all of it. It's ugly and painful, but it will get better Harry. You'll get stronger and the demons of your past won't haunt you like they have. C'mon," he stretched out his hand, "Let's get out of this house. Go for a walk."

Harry pulled himself up, "Alright," he said tiredly, "Down to the village maybe? We can have a look round the shops and come back for dinner?"

Draco shook his head, "Ambitious plan, but a bit too much for you right now. I thought we'd just go 'round the garden and come in. You know Weasley and Hermione will be getting back tomorrow. They'll probably want to visit." He prompted as Harry slipped on a jacket.

"I know. I don't want to see them yet though; maybe after you and Healer Marsh have spoken to everyone."

"If that's what you want Harry. You know, speaking of needing to talk to your friends and workmates" Draco paused studiously examining his nails to avoid looking at Harry, "it might be a good idea for you to take a leave of absence…"

Draco looked up as Harry laughed, "That wasn't exactly subtle, Angel. You know as well as I do that an Auror who's experienced trauma in the field can't return to work until they've received clearance from a healer. I got round it before becau-because I didn't report what happ-happened to me." Draco squeezed his hands in encouragement and Harry nodded gratefully. "As my healers, you and Healer Marsh could declare me unfit for duty, um…but taking a leave would be better for my record. I appreciate you're giving me a choice."

Draco nodded, back in his medi-wizard persona, "Having choices and making good ones is an important part of your recovery, Harry. Really, I'm too close to you to be ideally objective. I _should_ hand your case over to a colleague." Harry looked stricken and Draco rushed on, "I won't do that. Between professional ethics and your being comfortable enough with your healers to make the kind of progress you need to, there's no question of what's more important. We're going to do what's right and healthy for you, Harry. But you needed to have first choice about this. I could sign a work prohibition order, but I'd rather you request leave on your own. That way you can decide what you want the Auror Department and the Ministry to know, if anything at all."

"I-I don't want Kingsley or anyone at the Ministry to know about--about the r-rape. I don't want to see pity in their eyes every time they see me or for them to think of me as-as damaged--or w-weak." Harry hung his head, "I don't really want to tell my friends either, b-but they have to know don't they?"

"Yes, that's why I've made plans to talk to them all at once. You need their support Harry. They're your friends. You love them like family. They're not going to judge you or pity you, but they need to know so you're not hiding from them, and so if you fall back into addiction they can intervene before you hurt yourself."

Harry blew out a sigh and wrapped himself around Draco, "I know," he said against Draco's shoulder, "I just…I hate that it's happening. That they have to know. That I was stupid and started drinking too much…I hate it, Angel."

Draco smoothed his hand over Harry's head, "I know. But it's going to be alright, Harry. It will."

He pulled back a little and brushed his fingers over Harry's reddened cheeks. "It will," he said, and steered them back to the cottage.

Tbc…


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Mine, mine, mine…all mine…oh no wait the doctor said _not_ to listen to the voices. (sigh) I guess they're not mine after all.

**A/N: **We're in the home stretch now,thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed, especially those who've reviewed and have been so supportive of me touching on such sensitive issues. Writing this story has really helped me out of my writing slump, so anyone who's waiting on updates on my other stories, you may just get what they're wanting soon. Yay! Okay, enough prattle, this is slash by the way in case you've wholly missed that. Always my deep thanks to my beta WindandSummer! Thanks again for reading!

**Road to Recovery**

**V.**

It was obvious that Harry was well on his way to a healthy recovery by the afternoon Draco was to meet with his friends. He and Lydia had moved on to individual sessions, which allowed Draco to return to the clinic with a scaled-down schedule. He only handled long-standing cases now, including that of Melissa Gregory, who had received the first of her new round of treatments and was responding positively, boosting Draco's spirits on days when he felt he wasn't really a help to Harry at all. Not that those days were frequent, but a few times he worried that he was enabling an unhealthy co-dependency that would hurt Harry in the long run. He wasn't sure how to define their relationship, not lovers, but more than mere friends, exchanging loving touches and quick chaste kisses, longing and desire smouldering in their eyes when each thought the other wasn't looking. They hadn't really discussed their break-up, and Draco was well aware that in this it was he, not Harry, who'd been reticent.

He spoke about it with Lydia as he readied his flat for guests. "A Malfoy isn't afraid of anything," he said affectedly, poking fun at himself and his father's dictates, then shook his head, "but I'm afraid of this."

"What, exactly?" Lydia asked pouring herself a cup of tea.

Draco ran his thumb against his fingers nervously, "I'm afraid to let my guard down again, to trust him." He tipped his head back, blinking rapidly, "I-I want him to need me, but I'm afraid if I let myself get too close, let myself need him in return, that he'll hurt me again. And I am so fucked because as much as I tell myself I've kept that distance, I know it's only physical" he spat yanking his hands through his fine hair. "I've already let him in and need him as much as I ever did before."

The aging medi-witch hummed, "Be honest with yourself, Draco. About what you really want, about why you're trying to create distance between you, about your fears, and how much you've been hurting. Don't try to be stoic for Harry's sake or your own. And talk to him about it. Let yourself show the vulnerability you've been trying to hide. It can only help you both be stronger for facing it all." She fixed him with a stern look, "And do it soon. You're hurting yourself by keeping it bottled up, and confusing Harry, adding an element to his own struggle that he doesn't need. He wants you as his lover but he's uncertain as to what your responses mean, and struggling with the idea that maybe, despite all you've said and done, you really do view him as damaged and unworthy of your affection."

Draco's head shot forward; he blinked, "How could he think that? I'm doing everything I possibly can to reassure him that--"

Lydia held up her hand, forestalling further argument, "He is recovering from a violent sexual assault, those kinds of feelings and thoughts are not unusual in survivors trying to re-establish their relationships with their partners. It's more complicated for Harry because while you weren't together when he began recovery, he still views you as his romantic partner, and you've been engaging in activities that couples do, kisses, long walks, holding hands, that sort of thing, but when you back away or pull away from him, it feeds his doubt." The grey-haired witch sighed, "It's a delicate balance you're both trying to maintain. I believe it would be best for you to begin addressing repairing your romantic relationship and reclaim as much normalcy in that arena as you can as soon as possible. The sexual aspect of your relationship is another--" she paused as Draco shook his head.

"Too much, Lydia. I'm not ready to dissect our non-existent sex-life yet."

She smirked, "Oh, I think you're both probably more ready that you let on, at least for some activities. You'll work out what you need to in order to prevent Harry from experiencing further trauma. Of course, I'm willing to discuss any concerns the two of you may have, but I've found that generally it's best to let a couple discover how to resume an intimate relationship on their own. Just remember that common sense and communication are most important, but," she smiled as Draco reddened and looked ready to interrupt again. "I won't say anymore for now. Just know that if you need to talk about it. I'm willing to listen. There may come a time in future, where we'll need to resume joint sessions, and not just for Harry's benefit."

Draco nodded, but said nothing as he crossed the room to unlock the Floo. Harry's friends, and some of his too, would be arriving soon.

Harry had decided he didn't want to attend this gathering, and looking into the assembled faces each bearing expressions of horror, condescending pity, wrenching sorrow, and blank disbelief, after Lydia's initial speech, Draco understood why.

"So…how do we…how can we help, our poor Harry now?" sniffed a tearful Molly Weasley.

Lydia frowned, "First, by not referring to him as 'poor Harry,'" she said curtly. "His is the victim of a violent assault, not some helpless, hapless puppy who needs coddling and pity. If that's all you can offer him, then it's best you leave him alone for awhile. Harry is a strong, capable young man, who's undergone a horrible ordeal. However, it does not define him. He is more than just a victim. Treating him as though you think he's going to break at any moment, that he's too emotionally fragile or scarred to resume his life and normal activities will only hinder him and reinforce guilt and self-doubt. Or worse, will force Harry into performing for you, putting on a show that he's happy and healthy when he's hurting. It's that sort of behaviour which led to his alcoholism. None of you saw anything wrong because Harry didn't want to worry you, didn't want you to think badly of him, he let you see what you wanted when privately he was self-destructing. What Harry needs is your open, honest support. Your encouragement and caring without pity, or judgments."

"I'm sure we're all ready to commit to that," Remus said smoothly, easing the tension. "Most of us though, we haven't any idea how to handle interacting with an abused person, especially not a male victim. Abuse is so rare in the wizarding world, and rape…well, it hardly ever happens. Can you make suggestions to things we should and shouldn't do around Harry?"

The frown lines between Healer Marsh's brows deepened, "Your assumptions are in dire need of correction. I doubt there is a single person in this room who hasn't known a person, other than Harry, who has suffered abuse, verbal, physical, sexual, emotional, or magical, either domestic or at the hands of a stranger. The Wizarding populace is just as guilty of hiding these crimes as Muggles, perhaps moreso as we seem to have a collective talent for vanishing unpleasant aspects of our history and culture with a wave of the wand. And because we are a smaller community, the numbers of people assaulted are sometimes higher among us. One of the most difficult things we face, is that abuse and assault frequently go unreported, particularly in the case of child abuse, and sexual assault against men.

"Discussing or exposing child abuse is taboo since we like to think ourselves rather reverential toward our children, precisely because we are such a small population. And male rape victims, male victims of any sort of abuse face the stigma of threatened masculinity, the disbelief of their peers and families, hostility and scepticism from law enforcement's investigators, and a whole host of other factors that make reporting less likely, nearly impossible.

"You each need to challenge your own attitudes and assumptions about who gets abused, who can be a victim, if you're to be positive influences in Harry's life. Anyone can be a victim of assault, just as anyone can be a victim of abuse. There is nothing the victim does to encourage this behaviour or the attacks they've suffered. It is not Harry's, nor any victim's fault.

"Each of you is here because Harry trusts and loves you. He needs the support and belief of his family and friends. Be yourselves, but be attentive, make sure you _listen_, that you're open to what Harry needs from you. Don't consider 'handling' him, he is not some dangerous wild creature, or delicate heirloom china.

"Harry may struggle with feeling fearful, humiliated, angry, or confused. He has a tendency to feel guilt about many things, and this assault is another circumstance that has added to those feelings. He may sometimes feel numb. He has suffered an act of violence and violation that took away his control; so as he rebuilds his feelings of safety, trust, control and self-worth, what you must understand is that his recovery is an individual process, it will happen at its own pace, though and it is very important is that he be allowed and able to experience his feelings without fearing they will be dismissed.

"You need to respect and understand Harry's needs, do not assume you know best, or try to speed his healing by forcing your opinions on him. Your responses can help or hinder Harry's healing.

"You can reassure him that you will respect the time he needs to work through his emotions. That you'll listen when he's reedy to talk, do not think you'll help him by forcing him to communicate. Harry has been forced enough. Do not add to his trauma that way, pushing him to open up to you when he's not ready may cause him flashbacks or other forms of distress, he may push himself to tell things because he wants to please you, assure you of his emotional investment in your relationship.

"Pressuring him into anything he doesn't feel ready for is selfish and harmful, no matter how well-meaning you are. Harry will come to you when he's ready. Or he may not," she shrugged.

"We rely on our friends for different things, each relationship is unique, Harry may not seek your emotional support with regard to his rape. You may be the one he turns to in order to re-involve himself in Quidditch instead, don't assume that because you aren't the one he's turned to for a specific kind of support, that he doesn't need or value you. It is his choice who he goes to for his differing needs. And if you think his needs aren't being met, ask him. It's not uncommon for a victim's loved ones, to become overprotective, or smothering, trying to make decisions for the victim, when they themselves are distressed. It helps them to feel like they're doing something tangible to resolve the victim's pain; really, it can be frustrating and belittling. So ask, don't just decide.

"In general, just be the kind considerate, caring people Harry has grown to love. Let Harry come to you, listen to him, and encourage him to do what is comfortable. And don't feel as though you are alone in feeling confused or conflicted as you support Harry; be sure to seek support for yourselves if you're having difficulties, either from your other friends and family, or a mind healer."

As Lydia finished, Draco again surveyed the room, feeling more charitable than he had earlier. Thoughtful faces, not pitying ones, were what he found this time and he was relieved. He waved his wand, sending the teapot over to refill Pansy's cup and said evenly, "Harry asked me to tell all of you that he'll be in touch over the next few weeks, for now he's not accepting owls or firecalls, and he asks that no one visit the cottage."

"Why you, Malfoy? We all know you're not together anymore, why are you even involved in any of this? How do we even know that Harry's alright? That you're not keeping him from us, when he should be with people who love him?" Ginny asked through narrowed eyes.

"That attitude is _not_ helpful Miss Weasley," Lydia snapped, before Draco could even think a response. "I understand from both Harry and Draco, that there is some long-standing animosity between some members of their friends. If you are truly interested in Harry's well-being, it would be best to put that animosity aside."

Draco laid a hand on Lydia's arm. "It's an issue of jealousy with Miss Weasley, Lydia," he said, bringing the long-unspoken issue into the open. "You may not trust me Ginerva, but Harry does, and that's what's important here. What's more, Harry and I are reconciled, so I suggest that you, and anyone else who has a problem with me," he shot a quick glare at Ron, "get used to the idea that I am a permanent fixture in Harry's life." Well, it wasn't exactly the truth, but he was a Slytherin, well-versed in how and when to use a little obfuscation when it served his purposes; besides, having given a lot of thought to his earlier conversation with the older healer, he knew it would be the absolute truth soon enough.

It was enough to stop Ginny's mouth, and Remus, and several others nodded their approval. Healer Marsh gathered her things in the awkward silence that followed. "Well," she said finally, "I'm off. You all know how to contact me at St. Mungo's if you've need of me. Draco," she looked to the blank-faced blond, "you and Harry have a good night and tell him I'll see him in the morning at our usual time." She smiled a little smugly, having very solidly established that the two were again living together, and that Draco and Harry's relationship had her professional approval.

Draco bit back a snicker at her tactics, and wondered for a moment which was Healer Marsh's House at Hogwarts, that little manoeuvre was certainly worth of a Slytherin. He clapped his hands, "Well, that's it then. I'm not taking any questions, anything that could be said, has been by Healer Marsh. I will not speak for Harry beyond anything he's directly told me to share. Anything you wish to ask him or say to him, expressly will have to wait until he's decided to contact you, which as I said earlier, should be over the next few weeks. There is one thing," Draco sighed internally, he'd been dreading this moment from the time Harry asked him to make the announcement knowing he'd be pounced no matter the disclaimers. "Harry requested, and was granted a year's leave from the Ministry. He plans to make full use of that year and will not consider any requests for him to return early, especially considering that once his leave ends he may decide to leave the Auror service altogether."

Draco steeled himself.

"What? You can't be serious, Malfoy! Harry loves being an Auror. It's what he's always wanted, since he was 13 years old!" Ron hollered.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, sit down! How dare you raise your voice to our host?" Molly shouted and wagged her finger, as her son slowly sank back into his seat, flushing a bright red.

Draco cleared his throat, to stifle the threatening grin, "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," he said graciously. "Actually, Harry was worried about that kind of response, which is why he asked me to deliver the news. He and Healer Marsh agreed that he wasn't ready to handle violent outbursts and aggressively accusatory reactions," he shot a look at Ron who was looking thoroughly chastened, and who had an obviously irate wife just waiting for a private moment to let loose on him. "But it was Harry's choice to request the leave, just as it will be Harry's choice to return to his Auror career or not. This is a time of change for Harry. Not only is he focused on healing and recovery, he'll also be exploring what other things he may be professionally suited to and enjoy. It is his right."

"And we'll support him in whatever he decides," Hermione said firmly. "Won't we Ron?" Draco could see her nails gauging her husband's forearm.

"Of course, Mione," the burly redhead said meekly.

Ginger-haired twins snickered from the room's opposite corner. "Ickle Ronniekins is in for the bollocking of his life," Fred or George chuckled; turning away at the sharp look they received from their mother for teasing their brother. "Sorry, mum."

The flat emptied eventually, despite announcing he wouldn't take questions Draco was approached by every member of the slowly thinning crowd as he picked up discarded cups and saucers; Dietty had stayed at the cottage to see to Harry. Mr. and Mrs Weasley, the younger, were the last to leave. "He's much better, Bookworm," Draco sighed, rising the last of the plates. "Really, don't fret so. That's just the sort of thing Lydia was talking about, over-worry, over-protectiveness. He's doing very well with the mind-healing, and he's putting on weight. He'll be fine."

Hermione scraped a half-eaten scone into the bin and handed Draco the dish. "I can't help worrying, Draco, you know how I am. But I'll try. Really, I will. Are you sure there's nothing we can do in the meantime? Do you have everything you need at the cottage?"

Draco shook his head at the perpetual mother-hen, "We're fine," he said firmly, but his slight smile was kind. "We don't need much, Dietty does all the housekeeping, I can't get into the kitchen to make a sandwich let alone cook anything." He shrugged, "Harry'll have better luck with her when he's feeling up to cooking, you know how he loves to be in his own kitchen."

She smiled sadly, "I don't understand why he loves it so much, after the Dursleys…"

He reached out a soapy hand and patted hers, "It's reclamation, Mione. He took something that was frightening and painful, and made it safe and welcoming, instead."

She nodded, "I just wish he'd let us come over, at least for a brief visit. Do you think you could…?"

He frowned and shook his head firmly, "No, I don't. I _won't_. Don't push him, Hermione." He said lowly, his voice taking on a hard edge. "Don't pressure him."

She bit her bottom lip as her eyes widened "I'm doing it again aren't I?" She took a breath and wiped at her eyes. "He'll owl us when he's ready," she sniffed, bolting her confidence and faith in place. "And we'll wait. We're his friends and we won't pressure him to do what will make us feel better at the expense of his sense of safety and control."

Draco dried his hands and nodded his approval. "We're all having to make some adjustments, Bookworm, but I think we'll be better friends, better people for it."

"You're right," she hugged him. "I need to remember that others are capable. I'm the only one who thinks everyone should come to me for the right answers all the time." Her smile was more than a bit self-depreciating, "I need to get over myself."

He snorted as Hermione reached up pulled the band from his hair. "I've been saying so for years."

She whapped him with the back of her hand and reached to drop the elastic in a container he kept by the sink. "Prat."

He grinned shaking out his hair. "And this is news?"

Hermione ran her fingers through the fine platinum locks, settling them into place, knowing he'd only tied it back to keep from his face and getting wet while doing the dishes. She leaned back and admired her handiwork when done, not that it had taken much effort. "You are such a pest, Draco Malfoy. It's a good thing I love you," she stuck out her tongue.

Eyes stinging, Draco gathered her up in his arms, "I've missed you." He kissed her cheek. "Thanks."

Hermione pressed closer, her own eyes tearing, "I'm so sorry, Draco. I'm so sorry for not being a good friend. I do love you, and I was wrong to let anybody else's feelings keep me from being in touch with you."

"Mione, are you-- Oi! What's going on here?" Ron demanded as he came through the kitchen doorway.

"What does it look like Weasley?" Draco snapped. "Obviously, I'm groping your wife. We've been carrying on behind your and Harry's backs for the last year. I'm passionately in love with her and I was trying to convince her to run away with me when you so rudely interrupted."

Hermione snorted, and slapped her hand against Draco's chest. "Enough you!" she chuckled, "Don't encourage him. And Ron, have a little faith in me, for Merlin's sake!" She went up on her toes to kiss Draco's cheek, "Let's have lunch this week. Just for us, to catch up. You can tell me more about these new hybrid Muggle/Magical treatments you're using. I want to know all about it."

"I'll have to check Harry's schedule with Lydia, I'm not sure whether they're working exclusively this week. And then my own calendar, but I think Thursday might be free."

"Well, just firecall me when you know for sure," she said, ignoring her purpling husband, standing shock-still in the doorway.

"MIONE!"

She snickered, hugged Draco, one last time and pulled away, "Ta!" She waved, slipping past her husband on her way to the Floo.

Draco sniggered as Ron's incredulous outrage echoed through the flat. "L-Lunch? With him? Mione?"

He leaned over his crossed arms on the countertop and outright laughed with Hermione's sharp retort. "Shut it, Ronald Weasley. I won't stand for you dictating my company anymore. Draco is my friend, whether _you_ like it or not. Live with it!"

They'd actually had a very enjoyable lunch that Thursday. Hermione cheerfully grilled Draco for details about the experimental treatments and he explained all about his successes with Melissa Gregory. He caught her up on the doings of other mutual friends like Pansy and Blaise who she'd lost contact with after the break-up. He'd also surprised her when he shared that he and Neville would sometimes go round to Muggle pubs after shifts; places where they were sure not meet other Gryffindor alumni. Hermione was saddened by the lengths they'd had to go to keep their friendship intact in the face of some Gryffindors disapproval. Realising just how juvenile it had been, she was more saddened and shamed that her husband was one of the biggest and loudest detractors.

All in all it had been a good week for both Harry and Draco. Harry was making good progress with Lydia and his intensive mind-healing. He was more able to talk about his experiences and see more clearly how and why his responses had developed in the way they had. He started to be able to identify the unhealthy patterns he'd fallen back on for so long, how guilt and self-blame truly plagued him and how in great part he was primed for that kind of reaction from his abusive childhood.

They'd started talking openly about their relationship as well. It couldn't be helped when Draco detailed the Saturday gathering for Harry, but he felt it was something he wanted and was ready to do as well. More often than not, these talks would happen at night whilst they were in bed, as they were still sleeping together. And once they'd decided that they were back together neither saw any reason for them to try and force themselves to part in the evenings. Hand in hand they'd go upstairs and prepare for bed, then slip in and talk to each other in hushed and quiet tones, reassuring with a touch, emphasizing with a kiss, until they'd fallen asleep.

It had been Monday when Harry reached a tentative hand across the small space that separated them in the bed.

"Healer Marsh and I talked about Saturday's gathering at your flat today," Harry had said quietly.

Draco rubbed his thumb over Harry's knuckles reassuring him, that he was listing and open to talking. "Really? Now there's a surprise." He smirked playfully as Harry took their joined hands and bumped them against his chest. "Alight, alright. So did she fill in all I left out yesterday?"

"I know you told me everything, so there, you great pillock. No, actually we talked more about people's reactions. And we talked about what it means that you told everyone we were together again."

Draco's expression was strained though it was hard for Harry to see him clearly in the dimmed room. He sighed, "Perhaps I shouldn't have done that. I spoke for you without your having a say, and we've skirted around it, but we've never out and out decided that our 'separation' has ended."

Harry smiled faintly. "I'm saying now. Our 'separation' is officially over. If you agree that is."

"I agree. I never wanted to be apart from you to begin with, Harry."

Harry feathered his fingers across Draco's cheek, "I know. I'm sorry, Draco. I should've told you what was happening to me. I shouldn't have taken out my fear and anger on you. I-I said some horrible things. But I didn't mean it. I swear I didn't."

Draco moved closer to him on the bed. "I know that now, but that doesn't make it hurt less. I don't blame you for being in pain, Harry. You were trying to deal with something horrible. And I don't want you to feel guilty; I just want you to understand why it hurt so much." He waited until Harry seemed to nod, and continued, "You cut at me in the worst possible way. You said things that made me feel as though what we had between us was a lie. That I'd been an idiot to believe you could have ever loved me thinking about me, about us, that way."

"But I did love you--I do love you!" Harry protested.

Draco shook his head, "You said things that made it seem you were ashamed of me, Harry. That I should be ashamed of myself. That there was something wrong, hideously distorted, in a fundamental part of myself. That being gay, that being myself, was wrong and disgusting. Lucius made me feel that way sometimes, that there was a fundamental flaw in me. After his trial I swore to myself that I'd never let anybody treat me that way again. It took me a long time to really believe in myself. I don't mean the spoiled brat posturing and entitlement I projected in school. I mean really believe that I was a good and capable person. That I had something to offer the world that came just from me, not my family's name or money. In a few sentences you shook that belief; my love for you gave you that much influence over my sense of self."

"Draco," came Harry's pained whisper. "I--"

"No, Harry," he reached out and laid his fingers delicately across Harry's lips, "let me say this." He paused, and broke it after with a short sharp exhalation. "You hurt me, Harry. You hurt me deep. We both understand why it happened now. You're learning to deal with your pain, and so am I, and we do better together. But I won't let you hurt me like that again. This isn't an ultimatum, it's a not warning meant to intimidate or pressure you. It's just something I want you to keep in mind so you stop and think before you let something cruel fly. I won't be hurt like that again. I'll love you forever. I love you more than anything. And I love you enough to keep you from wounding your soul and mine, by being abusive. I love you enough to walk for good, Harry," he said softly, but the surety of his words was undeniable.

Harry's mouth slid against Draco's face, nuzzling, searching, "Draco," he whispered, when he'd reached soft full lips, "Draco. Never again. I promise. I know now. Never again. I love you," he said finally, holding his mouth open and willing against his lover's.

"I believe you," Draco breathed into Harry's mouth. He parted his lips further and slid his tongue into Harry's mouth.

Tbc…one more chapter to go!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **The fast-talking legalese man says this story is based on characters and situations that fall within the domain of JKR's copyright and those of other legal holders, so I guess that means in affirming that statement no one's going to come after me for my paltry bank accounts, right?

**Warnings: **HPDM Slash! Pompous Windbags and Sappiness ahead…

**A/N: **I have had such phenomenal feedback with this story I almost can't believe it. I really want to thank everyone who's reviewed. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed getting back to writing. My muse is back and the bunnies are breeding yet again so I hope to have new story or a chapter or two of an older story ready soon! Thank you!

**Road to Recovery**

**Epilogue**

"You look lovely, Bookworm," Draco smiled as Hermione twirled in her cornflower blue evening gown.

"Thank you. You were right, it's a great colour on me and Ron both. Have you seen him in the dress robes I picked up?"

Draco shook his head snickering, "I haven't. I'm sure he looks fine, though you'd best not let him hear that I was the one who suggested them when we were out shopping."

She rolled her eyes, "I know. I know. He's still such a prat about it. Oh look there's Harry with Miss Gregory!" she pointed excitedly. "They both look wonderful. You should be proud, Draco."

He smiled and followed her extended fingers through the hotel's grand ballroom. Melissa Gregory did look absolutely beautiful. The girl glowed with vitality. Her cheeks were pink with health and laughter, the sable locks falling to her shoulders in curly waves were thick and lustrous, she stood straight and tall, no evidence of the ravages her body had endured. It was hard to believe that nearly two years ago she'd been so sick, her thin skin had hung from her tiny wasted frame, and what little hair she had was dry, brittle, and incredibly thin, much of it having fallen out leaving patches of her scalp exposed. Now she was healthy, and had been without any signs of the virus returning for a whole year.

Draco had pronounced her officially cured earlier in the week. And he was proud that his hard work and willingness to look for non-traditional treatments had had such a positive result. Not only for Melissa, but for several other witches and wizards who'd contracted the virus. But mostly, he was proud of Melissa, for never giving up hope, for fighting for herself, and believing in him. He beamed widely at his charge and his lover.

"I am proud--of them, Hermione. They're the ones who did all the really hard work." He gaze softened as he admired the man laughing at something Melissa said. Tall, and well-formed, he filled out his green trimmed black robes, deliciously. His tanned skin, glowing under the prismatic chandeliers, his green eyes, jewel-bright and sparkling. Harry was a vision. It had been a long road for Harry as well, healing from his rape and earlier childhood abuse, recovering from his resultant alcoholism.

He and Draco had gone slowly but surely, each determined not to lose the other as they worked through wounds from their own individual pasts and build a life together. It hadn't been easy, flashbacks, and anger, frustration, shame, and guilt had to be worked through, understood, and dispersed. Needing safety had meant Harry had isolated himself for a while, becoming too dependent on Draco to be his shield from the outside world. Solving the problem of total social withdrawal and co-dependency had been some of the most difficult months in the last years. Eventually though Harry had reached out to his friends, who reached back enthusiastically, lovingly, and gently, letting Harry set the pace of their healing relationships so as not to be too overwhelmed.

He'd regained his physical health much sooner than his emotional equilibrium, and started working out at a Muggle gym. Kickboxing gave him a healthy outlet for some of his aggression, particularly when he'd had to deal with a few overly arrogant and insensitive students at the Auror academy, where he was now an instructor. It also gave him a musculature that was the envy of nearly every wizard in the room and had drawn more than a few appreciative looks from witches and wizards alike.

Draco smiled when Harry caught his eye and beckoned him over. He kissed Hermione's cheek who giggled and mentioned something about the temperature in the room having shot up, then made his way over.

Harry slipped him arm around Draco slender waist and drew him closer when he'd reached the pair. "You're the man of the hour, you can't hide in a corner with Mione all night" he teased in greeting and kissed Draco's cheek gently.

The healer smirked, "I most certainly am not. Malfoys don't hide behind women. And besides none of these pompous windbags or simpering sycophants are here to brush elbows with me, they're here in hopes that miracle girl will touch them and grace them with good health." He winked at his young patient, "Honestly, Harry. Haven't you seen them rubbing on Melissa like she's a good luck charm all evening."

Harry laughed, his eyes glittering, "They have, but we've set them straight. It seems most are too intimidated by the beefy Saviour of the Wizarding world to approach her while we're together. So she's going to stick with me until her dad makes the presentation."

Draco smiled, "Oh I see, throwing your reputation around again. Some things never change, Potter. And you," he wagged a teasing finger at the thirteen-year-old. You should know better than to associate with a man willing to do such a thing."

Melissa giggled, her dark curls bouncing. "I'm not hiding behind his reputation, Healer Draco, just his bulk!"

Draco laughed, tossing his head back to show pearly teeth, and the long line of his neck. Harry swooped in and placed a kiss at its centre. Which made Melissa giggle harder. When he'd calmed he'd sent Harry a warning glare.

"I couldn't help myself," his lover shrugged. "You have the most alluring neck."

Draco raised a brow, a small smile played against his lips. "Behave, Harry, young impressionable children are present."

The broader man was about to respond when Melissa's father, Pomponius Gregory, a wealthy businessman who'd left his wife and daughter penniless early during Melissa's illness and returned to reconcile with his family, once the success of the treatments made international news, sidled up and draped his fleshy arm over his daughter's shoulders. "I'll be making the presentation now. Melissa, come with me. You too Marco. Director Chetford and Healer Jaggedhease will surely want you in the pictures.

Inwardly Draco cringed at the Mr. Gregory's butchering of his boss' name. But tactfully he said nothing as the inscrutable Malfoy mask fell into place. Cordial but cool, he nodded and gracefully slipped a tense and uncomfortable Melissa from under her father's arm, placing her hand on his crooked elbow. "I would be honoured to escort you and Miss Gregory to the presentation stage, Mr. Gregory."

Harry followed with narrowed eyes, as the sweaty, priggish little man, puffed out his chest and attempted to suck in his protruding belly. He'd grown fond of Melissa and her shy, quiet mother, Margaret. It rankled that this cowardly self-interested excuse of a man would use Melissa's recovery to launch himself as a "man dedicated to family and the future," in hopes of developing enough of a public following for a successful political career.

They reached the base of the stage, and Draco introduced Melissa to the officials from St. Mungo's gathered there. "Melissa, my supervisor, Healer Jagadheesan. She's Head Healer at the Wellness and Family Care Clinic. And this gentleman is Director Chetford who runs all of St. Mungo's."

Melissa dropped a small curtsey, "It's nice to meet you."

Healer Jagadheesan, a cheerful and intuitive woman, smiled kindly, her brown eyes warm and friendly. "It's nice to finally meet you as well, Melissa. Though I've heard so much about you from Draco and Muriel. I feel like I know you already."

Melissa smiled, "They talk a lot. I hope they said good things."

"Of course, they said good things," her father said smoothly, his unctuous voice dripping slimy sincerity, "who wouldn't about such a sweet and cherubic little girl like you."

Healer Jagadheesan subtly raised her brow, an expression that only Draco and Harry caught. Clearly she was unimpressed and Draco was again reminded how well his boss understood people and why he was glad to be working for her. Harry sniggered slightly and Draco gently elbowed him in the stomach, before he could break out chuckling. The exchange did not go unnoticed by Healer Jagadheesan, who rolled her eyes and smiled genuinely at them both, before removing Melissa from her father's posturing. "Let's start the presentation shall we?"

The presentation was much longer than it needed to be, but of course Pomponius Gregory wasn't about to let this press-opportunity pass him by. With a script that read as though it had been penned by Rita Skeeter, he went on about his daughter's 'desperate struggle against this nefarious disease,' and their family being shaken by the poor prognosis given by her healers. He blathered about his endless search for the best available medical resources and the pain of being separated from his wife and ailing daughter while on his quest. Harry couldn't help but snort at that, though he covered with a cough and an apologetic look at Draco. Finally he thanked Director Chetford for making St. Mungo's 'a place of hope and healing.' He also thanked Healer Jagadheesan, though he mangled her name again, and the dedicated staff of the Wellness and Family Care Clinic, including "Marco Dralfory, whose creative application of healing techniques saved my precious little girl." He pulled out a handkerchief with a flourish and dabbed at his dry eyes. There was a snickering through the crowd, but people settled down soon enough when Director Chetford cleared his throat firmly and gave his own speech in response. Finally, Mr. Gregory handed over an enlarged cheque made out to St. Mungo's for the establishment of the Gregory Experimental Medicine and Holistic Healing ward. Everyone on the stage was shoved closer as photographers from The Prophet and other media outlets snapped dozens of pictures. Finally Melissa was bundled off to the small flat where she and her mother been living since Pomponius had ejected them from their suburban home.

"It's long past her bedtime you know," her quiet mother who'd avoided the evening's spotlight, said as she excused them. Pomponius, of course, would stay to schmooze before retiring to the large manor house he'd purchased on his return from his "quest to save Melissa" though he hadn't yet convinced his wife or daughter to reside there, and if Draco had his way, the slick politician never would.

"That odious little man, I should--" Draco fumed until Harry stopped his mouth with a long and passionate kiss.

"He is. And you should. But you won't because it wouldn't befit the Head Healer of the Experimental Medicine and Holistic Healing ward would it?" Harry smiled when they'd surfaced.

I suppose not. He glowered at the crowd that had formed around Mr. Gregory and Director Chetford. He huffed out a breath, "One little hex, Harry…"

His lover smiled, "No. C'mon. The night's still young and I have plans for you."

Draco's brow raised, "Do you now, Potter?"

Harry pecked his cheek, "I do. And none of them involve pompous men with delusions of grandeur." Entwining their fingers, Harry pulled them to the ballroom's exit.

Hours later, they were sleepy, sweaty, sated and tangled in each other's arms. "You deserve this you know. You're an excellent healer," Harry murmured against Draco's sex-flushed skin.

Draco chuckled as Harry brushed damp stands of hair away from his face. "Thank you, but you just shagged my brains out, you expect me to make conversation about work now?"

He felt Harry smile against his neck. "No. I was just thinking about it. I'm proud of you, Angel" he said solemnly, losing his smile.

Draco pulled back, stoking his hand down Harry's heavily-muscled arm, "Harry? What is it?"

"You saved Melissa, you healed me--"

"You healed you." Draco said firmly. He snuggled down to press a kiss against Harry's golden chest.

"I wouldn't have if not you Angel. You saved me." Harry insisted, carding his hands though Draco's fine white blond hair.

"I didn't save you Harry. You worked hard to be healthy on your own."

He huffed as Draco trailed his long fine boned fingers, his steady healing hands, over Harry's shoulders. "Fine, we healed me together. We did it together."

"Together," Draco agreed, as a familiar heat rose in him, rapidly burning away his earlier languidness.

"Together forever, Draco? Really and truly forever?" Harry asked, and just that suddenly the heat in Draco was banked.

He sat up and narrowed his eyes at the quiet uncertainty in Harry's voice. "What are you asking me?"

Harry linked their hands and gazed on them studiously. He spoke quietly into the rising silence between them. "Marry me."

"Wha-Harry!"

Harry raised his face, "I'm serious, Angel, never been more serious about anything in my life. I want you to marry me. Be mine forever."

"You're serious." Draco repeated, but not because he doubted his lover's sincerity. He could see Harry's longing, his vulnerability, how desperately he wanted this in his deep soulful eyes.

"Yes, I am."

Draco smiled slowly, holing Harry's gaze with his own and letting all that he was be seen there, offering it all to his lover, his friend, his partner, his survivor, his Harry. "Then yes, I will."

End.


End file.
